


Upstairs, Downstairs

by Soupernabturel



Series: Service & Mastery [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1920's, Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal Fingering, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aristocrat Dean, Bottom Dean, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Hidden Relationship, Historical, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Master & Servant, Mentioned/Discussed Gay Conversion Therapy, Mutual Pining, POV Castiel, POV Dean Winchester, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Coital Cuddling, Servant Castiel, Top Castiel, Valet Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 09:59:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4430927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soupernabturel/pseuds/Soupernabturel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>1923:</b> In the wake of Ruby's assault on the Winchester Abbey Castiel, still shaken, struggles with his faith and taking the next step in his relationship with Dean when coming across an advertisement in a London Magazine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place right after Beck and Call and before At Your Service.

  
“CASTIEL!”

 

At the screech of his name Castiel pricked himself sewing a button back onto Lord Dean’s jacket. He swore setting the fabric aside to lick at the wound, stalling the blood just as his name was called again, and the kitchen maid, Bess Meyers, sprinted into the room.

 

“Oh God help me, please god help me!” Bess cried, her blonde hair spilled from her cap, and stuck unsightly to her flushed face.  She gripped the back of Castiel’s chair almost doubling over, her breaths bursting out of her chest. Castiel feared for a moment, that the poor girls corset was about to burst open from beneath her clothes.

 

He whirled toward her, his task all but forgotten. “Bess? Whatever’s the matter?”

 

Bess’ eyes were wide and fearful, her usually demure voice close to hysteria. “God Castiel please, run up stairs to the tea room and get the sugar pot-”

 

“The sugar pot?” Benny Laffite asked, setting aside one of his lordships shoes mid shine. He looked at Bess and Castiel across the table. “What on earth-”

 

“You’ve got to,” Bess said to Castiel, her fingers curled around the back of his chair knuckle white. “Miss Mills will strike me if you don’t.”

 

It was a second or so before Castiel could work past his own bafflement. “What?”

 

“It’s not  _sugar_!” Bess threw her hands into the air, she was almost crying now. “I-I thought I gave Garth the sugar to take with the tea tray upstairs but I-I-I must have m-mixed them up this morning when I was emptying the sugar out-”

 

Castiel shifted in his seat, confronted by the nearness of a woman close to tears. He knew not how to handle such a thing, and felt a swelling relief when Benny rounded the table and placed a calming hand on Bess’ shoulder. “Calm down girl or you’ll give yourself a heart att-“

 

“SALT!” Bess burst out. Even Benny took a step back. “I’ve only sent bloody salt up haven’t I?  _God_.”

 

“Bess,” tried Castiel, lowering his voice in an attempt to get Bess to do so as well. The only way this could be worse would be if Mrs Harvelle, or lord forbid it, Mr Singer had their attention drawn to the servant’s hall. “I can’t just go upstairs whilst the family is seated.”

 

“A Valet can act as a footman can’t he?” Bess asked, looking to Benny for agreement.

 

Castiel felt a flash of betrayal when the Under Butler gave a slight nod, his lips valiantly trying to fight of a smile. Of course he would find the whole fiasco amusing.

 

Encouraged, Bess wiped at her eyes. “It won’t be too off then. Castiel. Please.” She came around the side of his chair, she looked almost fit to beg on hand and foot. “Please. You’re the only one who can do it. Both Garth and Andy are already up stairs and Singer will kill me if the Family is fed _salt_!”

 

“I have to say where Singer is involved, death is probably the least of your worries.” Benny remarked.

 

Bess paled, as white as a sheet. Castiel prayed to God she would not begin crying again, he didn’t think he could take it.

 

In an effort to stall the pervading tide, he pushed back from his table and got to his feet. “I’ll do what I can.”

 

Benny clapped him on the shoulder while Castiel passed him, heading upstairs.

 

“Oh bless Castiel. Bless you.” Bess called after him. “I promise Lord I’ll never day dream again! Not till I  _die_!”

 

Castiel hoped so, for his own benefit. The last thing the servant’s hall needed was another love affair stirring up dust that was better left lying.

 

 

oOo

 

Castiel hovered by the tea room door for a moment. Were he still a footmen, he would at least have the thin excuse of a reason to be wandering around up stairs. As it was a Valet had distinctly less reasons to be walking about. Apart from being in the masters rooms for dressings, Valets did most of their work downstairs unless explicitly called upon.

 

Bess was right in the knowledge that when necessary, Valets could act as footmen, waiting on the dining party, but since his promotion (which to this day, after everything that had happened with Sam, Dean and Ruby; Castiel was still in shock that he’d received it) Castiel had not had the chance to act as a footman again, returning to the task now (and in such a painfully unorthodox manner) had nerves creeping up his spine.

 

The Winchesters were circled upon their plush couches in the tea room, His lord and Ladyship seated together, every image of a loving couple. For all his gruffness, Castiel had been in the Winchester families employ long enough to recognise the softening of his Lordship in her Ladyships’ presence, almost invisible to anyone outside of the household.

 

Samuel Winchester sat on the left, the youngest heir and by far the breaker of convention. In the last few months the young lord had taken to (which Dean had assured Castiel, Sam believed to be quite fashionable) growing out his hair long and styling it back. Castiel would have barely noticed the difference himself if it weren’t for Dean’s teasing, and several of the house and ladies maids down stairs swooning at the young Lords new ‘style’.  But even Castiel had to admit Sam looked quite fetching, though not nearly quite so as the man seated opposite.

 

“Afternoon, Cas.”

 

Dean’s eyes shot to Castiel’s, and Castiel saw as much longing and love in them as he himself felt.

 

Castiel inclined his head in silent greeting, eyes not leaving Dean’s.

 

It wasn’t proper for a Lord to acknowledge the comings and goings of the servants in his employ, it was even more improper to address a servant by some sort of pet name but Dean Winchester had always been anything but proper.

 

Still, every chance Castiel got to see Dean outside of his usual duties was something terribly lovely.

 

Oh, how he yearned for a kiss.

 

“Is something the matter Novak?” His Lordship asked.

 

_I am in love with your son my Lord and haven’t been given the chance to truly be with him in months._

 

Castiel could only imagine the reactions if he were to voice that thought aloud. On a quick glance Castiel was relieved, the sugar/salt appeared untouched the Winchesters having barely touched their tea tray.

 

Mr Singer, standing dutifully in the corner, awaiting the family’s needs, cast Castiel a silent, but very similar message with his eyes. Although the words ‘what in God’s name are you doing up here’ seemed to resonate in the twitch of his eyebrows, the subtle jolt in his cheek.

 

Castiel bowed as was proper, and stepped a little further into the room. “Of course not your Lordship,” he was aware of Dean’s eyes on him, but kept his expression blank and gaze respectfully off to the side. “I have just come to collect the tea tray, one of the kitchen maids informed me the water may be cold by now-”

 

Cold tea was surely a lesser sin than seawater.

 

Robert Singer bristled and glared at Castiel harder.

 

Garth and Andy, the first and second footmen respectively stood off in opposite corners of the room, ready and attentive. Each one was as perplexed by Castiel’s presence as the other, but neither of them made any move against him.

 

As far as the downstairs hierarchy went, Castiel was above them both.

 

“Oh dear.” Her Ladyship Mary Winchester murmured, looking forlornly to her own teacup. His Lordship scrunched up his nose in distaste, Sam too discarded his cup, but he cast Castiel a warm smile, almost as rebellious as Dean in his open affection for the Valet.

 

As it was Castiel could not return such affection and had to satisfy himself with collecting the families discarded cups, whilst the family returned to their conversation around him.

 

Dean’s attention upon him however never strayed too far.

 

It was Mr Singer’s obvious disapproval that kept Castiel moving, the sham of it all set him on edge. Singer knew there was something going on, and it wouldn’t be until he was downstairs that he’d be able to get to the bottom of it.

 

The last thing Castiel wanted was to anger the Head Butler. Not after everything.

 

“It’s a fad.” His Lordship said, settling his hands on his knees as he leant forward in his seat. “That and nothing more.”

 

Castiel was keenly aware of Dean when he moved, as though a red string were between the two of them tying them together. “Father, your daughter in law is a Flapper,” said Dean, holding his tea cup with gloved hands. “Accept it.”

 

The very notion displeased his Lordship greatly judging by the sternness of his expression. He was always the traditionalist in Castiel’s experience.

 

Which was all the better that he didn't know his eldest heir was a sodomite.

 

 _Not quite._ Castiel thought, fighting off a blush. _You've never actually done that together mind._

 

Sam turned burnt red at the words ‘daughter in law’ he glared at his brother, then looked towards his parents. “But I haven’t even proposed!”

 

The disbelieving sound that Dean made was rather loud. At the same time her Ladyship hid an amused smile behind a cough and her hand. His Lordship didn’t bother with subtlety and simple rolled his eyes.

 

“And who’s fault is that now?” Dean asked.

 

Castiel picked up his Lordships teacup, balancing the expensive china expertly on his tray.

 

“Dean is right Sam, Jessica is such a lovely girl,” when Lady Winchester spoke it was a soothing sound. A foreign motherly tone not quite unlike Mrs Harvelle or Miss Mills. Though the three women of the house couldn’t be more different. “There is nothing wanting in her character.”

 

“Good breeding too.” His Lordship asserted.

 

Castiel smothered a smile, bending over Sam’s side to retrieve his teacup. He noticed the young lord was red right up to his ears. He would have given Sam a consolation pat -after everything in the last eighteen months, the two of them had grown ever the more closer, enough that Sam had confided in him several times about his affection for Miss Moore, who the both of them could agree was most certainly not a prostitute- but it would be improper to.

 

Castiel would have liked to comfort his friend and Lord then, but Singer was giving him a beady eye every now and again, as if to remind him ‘ _I’m watching you, you perverted homosexual.’_

Perhaps the ‘perverted’ was a word Mr Singer would not use, but Castiel knew well what the Butler thought of his proclivities, particularly toward the eldest Winchester. Castiel knew though he had been reinstated and promoted how thin the ice he walked upon on was. How careful his every interaction with Dean and Sam even had to be now.

 

Never again could Dean and he steal secret kisses in the many rooms of the Estate. Take walks upon the Manor's ground, revelling in each other’s company, or lay with each other late at night in the stables, out of the prying eyes of God and man, touching and kissing each other.

 

It was too dangerous, too shameful now, not with the consideration that Mrs Harvelle and Mr Singer had afforded them.

 

Castiel had self-control, but Dean was another beast entirely.

 

“You make her sound as if she is livestock.” Sam said, struggling around the words.

 

Dean shot his brother a cocky grin. “Well if that were true you wouldn’t have even given her the time of day.”

 

Sam frowned. “I’m not vain, Dean,” he said, amusement slipping.

 

“Well, one wouldn’t know that, what with the _type_ of women you pursue.”

 

Castiel winced on Sam’s behalf, Ruby's ghost still all to fresh in all their minds, he knew more than most that sometimes Dean pushed the line too far.

 

Both his Lordship and her Ladyship especially tuned in on that.

 

“ _Pursue_?” Her Ladyship asked, her mouth twisted in distaste.

 

“ _Type_ of the women?” His Lordship asked, neither outwardly approving nor disapproving, but his gaze was intent on his youngest son.

 

Sam looked caught within a trap, a fox on a hunt being forced further and further into the open by the hounds. Castiel moved to collect Dean’s cup but was stopped by a rebellious hand on his wrist.

 

Dean was very clever in creating the distraction of Sam's love life, just in order to steal just a moment of Castiel's time.

 

“Oh Sam's a regular vagabond, really.” Dean smiled and looked Castiel up and down unabashedly. He squeezed Castiel’s wrist once, rubbing Castiel's sleeve with his thumb.

 

Castiel’s heart began to hammer in his throat, and a burst of panic escaped in the form of brow sweat.

 

Singer was watching. Dean’s father was right _there._

 

Dean knew exactly what he was doing in that moment, touching Castiel so openly. Castiel ached with the wanting of it so much so that if they were alone he would have clocked Dean one, before probably dragging the young lord to the floor and showering his delicately freckled face with kisses.

 

But in reality Castiel pulled back his wrist enough to lose Dean’s grip, his eyes burning with reluctance.

 

The young Lord was undeterred.

 

“Tea’s good,” Dean said leaning over for the tray in Castiel’s hand far further than he needed to. Castiel felt it said something desperately wrong about his character that the simple feel of Dean’s fingers brushing over his for just a moment, sent a tremor through him, enough almost he dropped the tray.

 

“But could use a little sweetening up.” Dean smiled, like a child and Castiel felt his breath catch.

 

And so, because his lover was being particularly cruel (toward both himself and in his teasing of Sam), Castiel allowed for Dean to stir two spoonful’s of salt into his tea.

 

The ensuing reaction from Dean drinking said tea would have Castiel (in any other environment) laughing aloud. Quite as it was, Dean spluttered, spat and all at once reacted like a plucked chicken. Releasing a sound not unfamiliar from a shriek, and a ‘Good god!’ to accompany it.

 

Singer, Andy and Garth all took an aborted step forward as if the poor man had been shot. Sam gave off a laugh at his brothers reaction so improper that it caused Singer to glare at him.

 

Dean beat on his chest with a fist, coughing. He ignored the handkerchief Castiel (somewhat smugly) held out to him.

 

“Dean?” His Lordship asked sternly. “Whatever is the matter with you boy?”

 

Far more gently Lady Mary enquired. “Darling are you well?”

 

“Fine,” Dean spluttered, waving off the concern. He placed his teacup on Castiel’s tray with a clatter, and made a gurgling sound in the back of his throat. It sounded as though he was trying to swallow something particularly distasteful. “Fine. Just-” He rubbed his chest again and side-eyed Castiel with a poison green eyed glare. “Went down the wrong pipe s’all.”

 

Castiel’s eyes met Sam’s and they both fought the urge to giggle.

 

Dean would never catch Castiel out, which was something of a blessing for the young Valet.

 

He took Dean’s tainted tea and bowed to the family. Wordlessly he left the room, his smile mirthful even as Bobby Singer shot him a reproachful look.

 

Out of sight of the family and Robert Singer Castiel’s steps slowed a bit.

 

He smirked all the way back to the servant’s hall, each step a little lighter than the one before it.


	2. Chapter two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes random updates while I get into the groove of this new fic and the chapters are of a shorter length than my usual so hopefully this won't be a months on end drawl, but will culminate around mid-early September.

It was later that evening that Castiel knocked gently on Lord Dean’s door. As was proper, he waited for a response (highly muffled) before pushing it open.

 

“My Lord I…”

 

Dean lay on the bed above the covers. The clothes Castiel was tasked with removing for him were tossed unceremoniously to the floor, Dean himself naked as the day he was born. His naturally bowed legs were spread out lazily, his hip slung to one side, his sex hung heavy on his thigh, though soft still quite sizeable. He lay with complete abandon, his physique similar to Castiel’s, perhaps a little softer with daily pampering which strangely enough as equally as his bareness itself set Castiel’s blood ablaze.

 

Suicidal daring whispered to Castiel to suck bruising marks into the swell of Dean’s thighs, kiss and worship his way up to his lovers lips, to grasp him in his hand and feel Dean spill over his fingers hot and bitter.

 

Instead, reason, or something more fearful won out. Utterly unable to permit himself more than a few seconds glance, Castiel turned away quickly and slammed the door shut behind him.

 

“Are you mentally unbalanced?” it sounded as though someone else were speaking, the blood pumped in Castiel’s ears too loud to hear properly. His heart threatened to break open his rib cage.

 

Dean’s answer was a sultry purr. “I suppose you want to know how I undressed myself Cas?” he asked the grin evident in his tone.

 

“I wasn’t going to insult you by asking.” Castiel responded. Eyes on anything but his naked lover, he stalked to the other side of the room and retrieved his lords clothes from the floor.

 

Dean didn’t let him attend to the (poorly) removed garments in silence however. No, he sat up on the bed, stomach crinkling into a soft swell around his waist. He swung his legs over the bed sat and watched as Castiel folded.

 

“That was a cruel trick you played on me Cas.” He said.

 

Castiel fiddled with the garment in his hands three time before he realised he was trying to fold a sock. “My Lord-”

 

“Yes, _yours._ ” Dean stood and padded barefoot to Castiel’s side.

 

Castiel couldn’t help but shiver at the feel of Dean so close to him. It had been too bloody long, so long a hallow ache had been carved out in Castiel’s chest, one that he couldn’t touch without flinching back from.

 

With remarkable strength he managed to speak. “My Lord I thought we’d been over this.”

 

“Is that how you want to play it Cas? That Servants façade?” It didn’t take a genius to realise Dean was touching himself, pulling absently at his cock, right level with Castiel's head when he bent over to retrieve Dean's shirt. Dean's touching was a slow luxurious curl with neither real purpose nor rhythm just out of the corner of Castiel’s eye. The tip of his cock purpling as it began to fill.

 

He wasn’t even erect yet, not truly, like a cat batting with a ball of twine or playing with a moth before it ate it.

 

“It would almost work but I know the real you.” Dean spoke a little breathily. “I’ve had your cock in my mouth after all, something I’m v-very _ah- desperate_ to repeat.”

 

Castiel curled his fingers around the shirt in his hands, digging the ivory buttons into his palm.

 

“My lord-”

 

Dean released himself, and with the same hand he’d used to touch himself, now musky smelling and wet, cupped Castiel’s chin and directed it up to him. “It’s been months Cas.”

 

Castiel looked off to the side, anywhere but Dean, even as the pad of the lord’s thumb gently grazed his lower lip.

 

It took everything in him not to lick the intruding digit, suck it into his mouth and lose himself.

 

“Look at me.”

 

Castiel did as he was told. His eyes blinked open. They were so close each could feel the others breath on him. “Lord Dean-”

 

Disappointment flashed across Dean's green eyes like wild fire. He released Castiel with a sigh and turned from him. Between one moment and the next he crossed the room and draped himself in a rich red robe tying it about his waist.

 

Castiel let out a sound too close to a whimper for comfort as olive pale flesh was covered up. If he hadn’t been trained to keep his emotions at bay since he was a boy he’d have wept from the relief and loss in equal measure.

 

Such as it was, Dean (though he was trying valiantly not to) looked as though he was about to cry himself.

 

“Do you even still want me?” He asked, double tying the knot at his waist, an awful attempt at a bow before he undid it and tried again, swearing under his breath. He stalked back into Castiel’s personal space. “As I can’t help but think that there is a distinct lack of intimacy occurring in this relationship!”

 

It hurt that Dean was hurting, it hurt Castiel more than anything. “You know of the stipulations Mr Singer has asked me to abide by.”

 

“Bobby.” Castiel knew Dean had an immense amount of love for the Butler, which was why he was surprised to hear the other man spit his name as though a curse. “He’d not God Castiel! He’s not all seeing!”

 

“He’s been very good to me Dean, to us,” said Castiel calmly. “After everything.”

 

When Castiel raised his gaze Dean looked pained, every inch of flirtatiousness, or even anger shed from his being like discarded skin.

 

He nodded mournfully in agreement with the last sentiment.

 

“Forgive me.” Dean said, clutching at the lapels of his robe he appeared to be trying to pull it in tighter around himself. “I’m sorry Cas, really. I’m just-”

 

Guilt was only the baseline for what Castiel was feeling: he was shamed to the core.

 

“I know. I am too.”

 

Dean lowered his head in what could only be read as a gesture of equal shame.

 

“I miss you. You’re standing right in front of me, wearing that god awful livery and I miss you.”

 

The edge of a hollow smile quirked Castiel’s lips. “I thought you liked my uniform?”

 

Dean gave an empty chuckle. And then hugged himself about the waist. He was silent a moment, waging a war inside of himself that was only shown to Castiel through aborted words and furrowed brows.

 

Eventually Dean won over himself, looked somewhere past Castiel shoulder and asked, quite simply, for a hug.

 

Castiel gave no reply aside from opening his arms. Dean curled into him natural as anything face pressed into the dip of Castiel’s neck and shoulder. Castiel shuddered in relief and pressed the lord so close to himself he almost absorbed him through the skin.

 

This could not be against Singers laws whatever he said, there was no sin in offering comfort to a loved one.

 

Instinctively Dean sank his hands down Castiel’s back, fingers tucking into the waistline of his slacks. Castiel’s breaths started to come shallow, his arms tightening around the young lord as he realised Dean was kissing his neck, over and over, soft and wet.

 

Castiel caressed Dean’s hair, fingers spread through the short strands combing through it.

 

When Dean’s kisses turned a little heated (and Castiel could almost do nothing to retain his mind and ignore the growing heat in his lower half) Castiel pulled back from the hug with a chastising; ‘My Lord.’

 

Dean to his own credit, smiled a little sadly. “Sorry.” he said, but did not release Castiel fully, drawing back but holding his hands, keeping them linked together.

 

“Just a few more days my lord.” Castiel said, trying to appease him. “A few more days and you and I shall be in London, celebrating our own belated Christmas.”

 

For the first time since entering the room Dean’s blooming smile was genuine.

 

Spurred on, Castiel took Dean’s hands in his own. “And we shall be alone together, we could take lunch in a pub,” Castiel didn’t realised he was playing with the fabric of Dean’s robe tie until it was tied a lot looser than it should be.

 

He dropped it with a start and tried to collect himself.

 

_However many days it is, is too bloody many._

 

“If you think for a moment in those three days that we’ll be engaging in anything outside of a bed you must be daft.” said Dean.

 

Castiel actually laughed at that and felt better for it. “Surely you don’t intend us to be bed ridden the entire time.”

 

“You underestimate me greatly. And yourself.” Dean smirked. “I promise you will enjoy it.”

 

Castiel watched Dean’s amusement with a smile of his own. Relishing in the moment which felt like scratching an itch that had persisted for too long.

 

Speaking of much too long...

 

“Dean?”

 

At his christen name, Dean positively beamed. “Yes love?”

 

Castiel considered scolding him for the pet name but did not want to ruin Dean's smile.

 

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask for my hand back.” he looked down to the space between them, where Dean had intertwined their fingers. “Since you’re already undressed my duties here are fulfilled.”

 

_Singer may be looking for me._

 

“Oh, course!” Dean loosened his grip enough for Castiel to pull away.

 

A normal servant would have bowed goodnight and that would be that, but Castiel was not a normal servant.

 

Intoxicated with foolishness, Castiel leaned in to whisper: “In two days’ time you will be able to hold any part of me you wish.”

 

Even though he knew there would be no kiss, Castiel stayed in Dean’s space, eyes locked, lips licked wet for a long while.

 

Dean smiled in turn, yet in a display of immense strength made no move to close the gap. Castiel was pleased. He gave a final squeeze to Dean’s wrist before releasing him, fighting the urge to introduce either his fingers or his mouth to the young lord’s hand.

 

“Alright.” Dean said. “Go back to bed and think of me why don’t you? You know I’ll be thinking of you.” He flushed as Castiel flushed, a fresh flash of heat sank into his gut.

 

“A few days.” Dean said, smile firmly in place and Castiel nodded.

 

_A few days._

oOo

 

 

The downstairs servant’s hall was empty, most of the staff retiring to their rooms once their duties were done and the family had been put to bed. Castiel had sunken into a chair on the far end of the servant’s hall his cigarette half smoked, smouldering in the ashtray before him.

 

He refused to retire for the evening with Dean’s naked image painted across his mind, knowing that if he did so, he’d be unable to act professionally tomorrow.

 

Everything felt risky tonight, wrong, more so than usual. As though one careless action could bring everything falling down around him. He had been so good for so long, so chaste since the incident with Ruby, only now having just earned Singers trust again, Mrs Harvelle's. A part of Castiel was reluctant to once more lose it.

 

For that was what it would mean. Reconnecting with Dean would be a breaking of that trust, a sin so great that the staff who knew may not be able to look Castiel in the eye again.

 

Surely Singer wouldn't, his regard for Castiel once more slipping into something verging on disgust that read greatly of disapproval.

 

Singer knew more than most that Castiel’s love for Dean was only ever hidden below the surface, in every action or thought or word he said. Castiel loved Dean, and Dean loved him in return, bar Singers and society’s disgust in the matter.

 

It just felt all too much this evening, to fight against it or give into it and Castiel just felt like he was too tired for it all right now. 

 

Castiel’s eye wandered the table till he spotted one of the housemaids discarded magazines. He collected it up and thumbed through the pages, peering through a miasma of smoke with another cigarette, nothing really catching his eye until he turned to the advertisements section by the back.

 

 _There is a cure!_ The title read. Castiel cocked his head and puffed once on his smoke.

 

 **_Exodus Program_ ** _: Change is possible, discover how today!_

 

_....Sinners redeemed...._

 

_…Reinforce anatural sexual preference…_

 

_…Decondition child molesters…_

 

_…And if you are homosexual, it is a sure thing that you do not understand your perversion…_

 

_…Because if you did understand it, you would be well on your way to recovery!_

 

**“Castiel?”**

 

Castiel jolted from his chair, dropping his cigarette almost burning the page he was reading from. Ellen Harvelle stood by the entryway, her chestnut brown hair lit by the low light and the lantern she held in her right hand. She was still dressed in her afternoon uniform (almost identical to her morning one) a black dress floor length and a belt of house keys around her waist that gave her steps a musical charm.  
  
  
  
Horror. The only thing Castiel felt was horror at what he'd just read.

 

“You looked as though you were off with the fairies just then.” Mrs Harvelle smiled. Castiel closed the magazine as inconspicuously as he could and rolled it up tight, hoping that the low light would not show too obviously in his shining eyes.

 

“Just letting you know you’re the last.” Mrs Harvelle said, keys jangling as she stepped forward. “Mr Singer has already turned in.”

 

Castiel rose to his feet and pushed his chair in. A discreet hand wiped over his face. “Thank you Mrs Harvelle. I was just heading up myself, unless there is anything more to do?”

 

“No, no everything is ship shape for tomorrow morning.” Her gaze strayed a moment to the magazine rolled up in Castiel’s hand. “You best be careful with those silly things Castiel, they fill young heads with nothing but gossip and fodder.”

 

A fish hook smile pulled Castiel’s lips. He felt it rather impertinent to mention to Mrs Harvelle that he could hardly be classed as young any more. “Yes. Quite.”

 

“Well, I give you my good night Castiel.”

 

“As do I. Good night Mrs Harvelle.” Castiel inclined his head in a bow, not straightening till Mrs Harvelle left his sight entirely.

 

In silence Castiel put out his dropped light and left the servants hall. Swallowing down the uncomfortable lump that had been growing in his throat, he slid the curled up magazine into his back pocket and made his way to his room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The extracts from the conversion therapy article are real fragments from real advertisements from the time. Super disturbing stuff by the way.


	3. Chapter Three

Distracted. Distracted would be a good way to describe how Castiel felt in the following days.  
  
  
The next few days passed in such a way that Castiel felt transported from one moment to the next, jumping from task to task. His interactions with Dean were brief in a way that was both simultaneously disheartening and a relief, for reasons Castiel was far to reluctant to look within himself and decipher, though if he had to guess it may of had something do do with Lord Dean's excitement.

 

The torturous wait for their holiday was somewhat harder on Dean who did not have tasks to fill his day, at least none outside of the usual estate upkeep and maintaining and air of someone who was not desperately eager for every clothes change throughout the day.

 

Even her Ladyship had not needed so many changes in the last three days.  It got to the state where in order to keep up with his own duties, Castiel had to ask Benny to ask Dean to stop, and insist that scuffing ones shoes on the courtyard outside did not require a full change in the middle of the afternoon.

 

Dean has relented, somewhat reluctant and had been very fidgity right up until this morning, enough so that even the family had noticed.

 

Castiel could agree that, now that the day had finally come, he too felt nerves electrifying his skin. 

 

“Anna will be back from her time away soon.” Benny mentioned, standing attentive by Castiel’s bed as the Valet sat on his bedside packing enough supplies for three days into his suitcase. “She’ll be here by the time you return.”

 

“Yes most likely.” Castiel nodded, deciding between two shirts before he packed the smartest of the pair. London after all was the centre of culture and prestige, Castiel needed to look his best, and represent the house well. “I know Anna misses her family greatly, she will be a bit out of sorts for a while coming back.”

 

He pressed his shirts into his suitcase, before turning to his bed side draw. From the bottom draw, pushed far to the back, Castiel removed a small brown paper wrapped parcel. He took a moment to straighten the twine bow, smooth out the creases of folded paper before slipping it amongst his belongings.

 

“She’s lucky she has family to go out to.” Benny remarked. “I’d think it’d be harder for you and Dean in that respect, returning from your- _holiday._ ”

 

Sometimes Benny could be incredibly delicate, and at other times the American was painfully blunt.

 

“Yes.” Castiel said, eyes on his clothes. “I suppose you’re right.”

 

Benny gave an amused huff and crossed his arms about his boat deck broad chest. “If you don’t mind my being nosy, can I ask how Singer’s been with you about this?”

 

Castiel patted down his clothes and Dean’s gift. He shut his suitcase with two thumbs and a click. “As well as he can be I suppose. He’s let me take the time after all.”

 

“It’s just, I know he can be hard on you, on all of us.” said Benny gently.

 

“He is Butler of a grand house,” Castiel replied, “I believe it’s part of his disposition.”

 

“Please,” Benny laughed. “The only thing that is a part of Robert Singer’s disposition is a persisting desperation for simplicity.”

 

“I’m afraid that is rather the problem.” Castiel sighed. “We’ve hardly made things simple for him. Lord Dean and I.”

 

Benny raised an eyebrow at the formal title, he had far less regard for such formalities when none of the upstairs were in earshot. “No, but we all have to face challenges at some point. Can’t be all smooth sailing forever.”

 

Castiel immediately lowered his chin down onto his chest to illustrate that he could see straight through Benny’s pretense.

 

“Why do I feel as though you are insinuating something?” he asked.

 

“Oh I don’t know.” Benny smiled, something mischievous and boyish and Castiel could see all too easily why he and Dean were so fond of each other. “I was just imagining what it’ll be like meeting Singer’s eyes for the first time when you both return.”

 

Castiel swallowed, and pulled his cloth cap down onto his head, the brim slipped over his brows, shielding his eyes. “Thank you Mr Lafitte, for your heartening and reassuring words.”

 

He pushed past Benny a little rougher than necessary, grip tight on his suitcase to hide his hands shaking.

 

Benny just gave an affectionate chuckle, and followed Castiel down to the servant’s hall.

 

 

oOo

 

 

The whistles were blowing when Castiel got onto the platform, risking a jog for the last stretch Castiel made his way to the third class carriage, knowing that Dean was comfortably seated in first, Victor having brought him down to the railway in the house car a few minutes earlier.

 

Castiel having walked from the Abbey slipped into his carriage only seconds before an attendant pulled it shut for departure.

 

Releasing a blanket of steam and a harsh scream of metal and metal the train was on the move. Jostled whilst he navigated the corridor, Castiel’s fraying nerves only increased as he was asked point blank to return to his seat. It wasn’t until he was seated down in his compartment and that he could look out the window that Castiel felt his nerves finally settle their quivering.

 

They only racketed up quicker than ever when the door to his compartment was thrust open and a cloth capped gentleman stumbled inside wearing a too big tweed suit and fine shoes.

 

“Oh thank bloody fuck.” Dean said, trying to gather himself. The black suit jacket, shirt and slacks in his arms were horribly crumpled, Castiel let out a mournful sound deep from the back of his throat. He’d pressed those clothes so meticulously this morning. 

 

“You wouldn’t believe how close I was to being caught in my underwear.” Dean tilted the edge of the borrowed cap up, his eyes looked far brighter with the dark brown of the material. Dean smiled ivory white and gestured with his clothes. “You got room for these?”

 

“Did you undress on the train?” Castiel asked, already in the middle of retrieving his suitcase, he opened it on the chair and took Dean’s clothes from him, taking the time to fold him, whilst Dean bounced on the balls of his feet.

 

“Course!” Dean said stepping closer to him. He cupped Castiel’s face in his hands and brought their lips together.

 

Castiel opened his mouth to him immediately and felt a warm wet tongue greet him. He moaned softly, the sound like a deep purr from within his chest. Dean melted against him and kissed him harder. Hands slid around Castiel’s body and pulled him close. When the kiss ended they were flushed and breathing hard.

 

The sound of a close compartment opening, as the train made its first stop brought them both back to reality.

 

Several passengers passed by the compartment door. Still holding Dean’s hand Castiel was led to their seat. Dean sat down beside him, the two of them watched the passengers head to their own seats, before the train started moving again.

 

“That was close.” Dean laughed, a little unsteadily. He squeezed Castiel’s hand before letting it go. “Didn’t think I’d be able to pull it off, either get caught between carriages or in the nude.”

 

“And yet you risked it,” Castiel said.

 

“I did at that.” Dean breathed the words more than said them, turning away from the compartment door to face Castiel.  He pressed his hand down on the seat beside Castiel’s so close the sides of their hands touched. “Some things are worth the risk.”

 

Castiel shook his head and was about to rebut but Dean moved his little finger and stroked the back of Castiel's hand.

 

Castiel had no time to relax in the touch before the compartment door opened and two women came in, both several years younger than Dean and Castiel. The intimacy of the moment was gone and Dean and Castiel moved apart. Dean’s hands went back to his sides and Castiel’s went into his jacket pockets picking at a loose thread from within.

 

The two girls whispered quietly to themselves, nodding in greeting and smiling with rouse coloured cheeks but nothing more. They sat right up against each other, able to do so with their feminine gender. It was expected for a woman to be affectionate in the company of another woman, physical in the way that men could never be.

 

It wasn’t even jealousy Castiel was feeling. It was a strange kind of _aching_.

 

He realised he hadn’t taken a breath since the two girls had entered. Dean edged a little closer to him and cleared his throat.

 

“So Mr Novak,” he said in a voice different from his own. “Heading to London? I trust you’ll be having a pleasant trip?”

 

Some of the tension in the room evaporated at the unremarkable conversation. The two girls fell back into their own world though Castiel was under no illusions as to the lack of their privacy. If the lingering glances and cheeky smiles each girl would send across their way were any indication.

 

They thought Castiel and Dean were two Bachelor's from town. Castiel wanted nothing more than to inform them that they weren't.

 

One of the girls opposite him gave Castiel a purposeful appraising glance which Dean noticed and made his jaw twitch. Castiel sucked his lower lip between his teeth, fighting off the beginnings of a smile. He didn't like that Dean's displeasure made him happy, but it made him happy all the same.

 

“I will, thank you Mr Plant.” Castiel said with considerably less jest than Dean, aside of course, for the name.

 

‘Mr Plant?’ Dean mouthed, Castiel just shrugged.

 

The two women across the compartment chatted amongst themselves and travelled with them all the way to London.

 

 

oOo

 

 

They left London station with Castiel carrying Dean's case in one hand, his own firmly with the other. Dean walked close beside him, too close in all honesty, which Castiel guessed by the looks of the men lined up around the exit were giving them. Castiel went to step away as they emerged onto the street but Dean refused, moving so close that their shoulders brushed together.

 

He noticed the men too, but took a different interpretation, leaning in close to Cas to shout over the din. “They're interested in these here suitcases.”  he said “Probably wished they saw me first before you, offer to carry my cases for me, a handsome stranger who shares the load then disappears into the crowd, never spotted again.”

 k

Castiel bristled at the initial insinuating but when he thought on it further, the true answer was just as dark. 

 

“They believe I'm robbing you?”

 

“Of course.”  Dean smiled. “I'm highly robbable you know?”

 

Castiel barely listened to him, his attention on the space near off.

 

“And I suppose those police are wondering if you're rich or important enough to be helping?” Castiel asked with a nod in the direction of two officers who watched them with a careful gaze.

 

“Yes,” Dean said but took a step back from Castiel all the same, the smile gone from his face. He walked a little faster and Castiel had no problem in matching him. “Come on, hotel's down this street.”

 

Cars rattled collecting wealthy embarkees. Horses pulled cart supplies and dozens of men and women trying to sell their wares had flocked to the centre of the station, spilling out onto the streets. The sheer amount of people made Castiel screw up his face in obvious discomfort. Castiel took the crowd as a blessing and an excuse to put as little distance between himself and Dean as he could.

 

The streets of London were wide, but enclosing buildings loomed large above them. The people were of a strange dichotomy silk cravat wearing Monarchs amongst scraggly filth. With almost no middle ground between them. Castiel and Dean checked their belongings, their wallets at regular intervals but not in such a way as to invite signposting where such valuables were kept.

 

Dean led them to an affluent hotel, which stood tall on the block a ways down a back street. Dean checked them in with little fuss, confirming his order of two rooms on the first floor and adjoining door between them. He ignored the looks the entry man gave them, curious that residents to such a prestigious hotel were wearing such improper clothes.

 

When they entered the first room together Castiel held open the door, following Dean in he deposited their suitcases upon the bed. Neither gave attention to the separate room.

 

Dean lingered by the bed side, his smile sheepish. He gestured around them, and pulled his cap off to run his fingers through his hair.

 

“So…um…Here we are.” said Dean.

 

Castiel patted his suitcase then sat down on top of the bed. “Yes.”

 

Dean chuckled, and moved into Castiel's space. He braced himself on Castiel's thighs and leant down moving his face to Castiel's. He nestled their noses side by side with lips almost touching.

 

“Is this to your liking then?” he asked softly, his breath playing over Castiel's mouth. “I wanted something well, _private,_ as you know.”

 

“Yes of course.” Castiel mimicked the gentle tone of Dean's voice. With a hummingbird heart he leant a little closer, fixing Dean's hands to his thighs with his own touch. “I have to say that, _oh-_ “

 

Dean kissed him soft and gentle, swallowing Castiel’s words. He pulled, back his face beaming.

 

“I just…um…” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the door. A third door, not leading to the corridor or to the next room, rather a room all of its own.

 

Castiel rose to his feet and took to the room, he opened it up and peered inside.

 

“This is a bathroom?”  Castiel remarked, his frown one of confusion as he looked about the new room. “Attached to our room?”

 

“Only the best for you.”  Dean said, but cleared his throat a little, uncomfortable.

 

Upon realisation Castiel gave a shaky laugh stepping back from the bathroom door. “Of course. Forgive me.” he said.

 

Dean smiled, kissed him on the cheek as he passed, and slipped into the bathroom. He seemed unwilling to take his eyes off Castiel, and motioned for him to stay precisely where we was, before backing away.

 

Castiel watched Dean close the door behind him.

 

Putting himself to use Castiel fixed himself upon unpacking his and Dean's suitcases jukst as running water started in the other room. Castiel questioned it a moment but let it lie, falling into the comfortable ritual of unpacking Dean’s clothes, pressing them down gently into the beside draw, giving them room and space, far more than Castiel’s own, which he placed in the bottom draw, out of the way. Dean’s present Castiel sat with them, and ignored the package in Dean’s bag addressed to him.

 

He smiled at the elaborately wrapped gift, with paper that would have cost a whole week of Castiel's wages, but left it in Dean’s suitcase for the man to give him himself. Though he smiled now as he worked, at least until his own suitcase was almost empty-

 

“Alright there?” The door of the bathroom swung open. Upon seeing Castiel’s expression Dean’s smile faded.

 

“You alright?” Dean asked, swaying ever so slightly on the balls of his feet as he stared over at Castiel.

 

Castiel nodded, tongue temporarily lagging. He closed his suitcase, keeping the London Magazine out of sight. Before sliding both suitcases under the bed.

 

“I’m fine.” He said, fixing his face into a smile. It was strange being like this, alone together after so long. Both of them seemed to realise this was a very different situation from the norm. Yet neither one, now that the moment had finally come, was acting quite as comfortable with each other as usual. Dean in particular seemed uncharacteristically shy.

 

Privacy could change a man. The reality of the moment, instead of just a promise, could be a little overwhelming.

 

“And you?”

 

“I’m…” Dean gave a sharp exhale. “I’m definitely fine.” Dean directed his vivid eyes directly onto Castiel. For a moment Castiel felt as though they could see right through him.  

 

“Very much.” Dean murmured, so soft and so honest, leaning in close to Castiel, lips left parted as he began to close his eyes.

 

Lines from the advertisement were jumping out at Castiel, making it difficult to breathe around the anger stirring in his chest.

 

“Dinner!” Castiel blurted, just as Dean was about to kiss him.

 

Dean pulled back. “Pardon?”

 

“We should have dinner.” Castiel said stepping around him, he made a break for the bedside, and retrieved Dean’s jacket. “Here,”

 

It was habit more than anything that Dean stretched out his arms for Castiel to dress him. “Oh, yes. Alright.” He said as Castiel slid the jacket onto him. The idea seemed to settle in Dean’s mind and he smiled a little dreamily as Castiel smoothed down his shoulders. “We should have dinner together.”

 

He said it with enough awe that Castiel’s nerves settled, affection filling his chest.

 

Though he stood out of sight Castiel nodded. “Not at a restaurant mind, someone might recognise you.”

 

The thought of all those people seeing him and Dean together...

 

There might have been a time, before Ruby, when the thought of being seen publicly in Dean's company was pleasant.

 

“Of course.” Dean said. He waited as Castiel drew on his own coat, watching silent, his gaze like a physical weight on the nape of Castiel’s neck, then on his back as Castiel made for the door.

 

“Cas?”

 

Castiel paused mid step in the threshold of the room. “Yes?”

 

For a moment there was a beat of silence as the two men regarded one another. Castiel looked at Dean’s cheek, for the other man’s eyes were too open to those who knew him, could easily cut through flesh to get to the bone of matters.

 

The advertisement burned from within Castiel’s suitcase as though it was printed right there on his clothes.

 

“Never mind.” Dean said, punctuating the word with a soft smile, he stepped past Castiel out into the hall, clapping him on the shoulder. “Come. A bit of fresh air and a stretch of the legs will do us both good.”

 

Castiel couldn't agree more. The thought of being alone with Dean in that hotel room with _that_ magazine, was too suffocating to stand.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for this chapter: All the times Cas has flown away in the show when really he and Dean should have talked.
> 
> Thank you again for the lovely support and interest, here is a nice long chapter for you guys!

 

When Dean was seventeen years old Bobby Singer sat him down and told him of the facts of life.

 

“Well…it may occur that you find yourself, my lord, noticing the females.” Bobby had tripped over his words, beetroot red in the way he only usually was when angry that Dean was distracting Castiel from his work, or when he acted particularly ungentlemanly, addressing the servants by their Christian name. 

 

Dean’s own blush at Bobby’s words, was more peach tone then anything.

 

“You’ll have urges,” Bobby struggled, “In regards to the ladies, which you _must_ reign in-in regards to these ladies, and to… yourself.”

 

Dean flushed deeper and lowered his head. Bobby cleared his throat and continued:  “This is natural to feel _excited_. But you are expected to maintain a standard.”

 

“Do you have any questions?”  He asked finally, with edging reluctance.

 

Dean was absolutely desperate to leave, Bobby seemed just as eager for him to. But at seventeen he needed to know and answer. Bobby Singer was the closest thing he had to a figure of some moral authority, (his own old man rather distant, as all well-bred English fathers should be).

 

“Yes.” Dean swallowed.

 

Bobby’s eyebrows rose, but he remained patiently silent.

 

It was some time before Dean found the strength to voice his question aloud. Castiel’ smile slipped into his mind, the way his nose crinkled up when Dean kissed his cheek or held his hand. They’d only been walking out together a little over a three years now, the sweetness of young love still incredibly ripe, so much so that Dean struggled sometimes not to shout out his love in joy.

 

“I have, I mean, I’ve heard of such a thing as men who-who care for the company of other men.” Dean said, surprised by the steadiness of his own voice.

 

“Such- foulness does exist indeed my lord yes.” Bobby had said firmly. “But the whims of such people should be of no concern of yours.”

 

At the time Dean had said nothing.

 

Almost a decade later Dean wished he could go back in time and speak out.

 

Bobby was not a bad man, or even necessarily a wrong one. He had his beliefs and standards as any man would and though conservative in nature was rather forgiving in heart. He kept up appearances in the house and expected Dean and Castiel to do the same. He didn’t want to be obliged to be officially offended and abide to social conventions, so instead acted (at least toward Dean) that his sexual proclivity and relationship to Castiel didn’t exist.

 

Sometimes Dean thought it was Bobby to blame for that in the first place. Bobby was the one with his fatherly demeanour, kindness and genuine attention to Dean that warped his sense of the classes; made Dean see the staff of the Winchester Household as people instead of mere servants.

 

It was Bobby, Dean felt, who had made it possible for him to fall in love with Castiel.

 

And did he love him.

 

Rather wholeheartedly.

 

 _Fool heartedly_ , Bobby would say. The thought made Dean smile.

 

It was strange to think of the reasoning and reactions of a man for who everything with either black or white.

 

Dean’s world in comparison, was a backdrop of grey, layers upon layers of grey.

 

He knew (more so probably than Castiel himself knew) that the young Valet as much as he would deny it, often tended to similar thoughts as the Winchesters Butler. Black and white, more so than the grey of Dean’s world. There were shades yes but Castiel was a man who needed to know the why and the how, to console something deep within himself in order to form any new opinion or make a decision.

 

Castiel was far more like Bobby then either of the two service men were willing to admit.

 

But Dean could see it, more so in the last twelve months than ever before.

 

_So why isn’t it over yet? Why hasn’t Cas made either of us move on? Stop what we’re doing, stop loving each other?_

 

Despite the face he portrayed Dean had been waiting, as they say, for the proverbial shoe to drop and drop hard, stomping his heart into the dirt.

 

Sam had asked him once, after the whole Ruby Fiasco, why Dean chose to love Castiel, love a man. Why would he put himself through that-

 

Dean had evasions and half-truths ready, had them within his grasp for years. He considered giving his brother the answer he wanted, volunteering the information just to have someone outside of his own head that he could discuss the matter with, but there was no way Dean could explain it to Sam in a way that he could understand.

 

Sam thought his relationship with Castiel to be complex, but the truth was that he wanted it to be complex, in actuality it was rather simple: they needed each other.

 

Dean could remember his reply; ‘I never asked for it and neither did he.’

 

It was simple because neither of them had any choice in the matter.

 

Sitting across from Castiel now, watching as his lover, his dearest friend stared into the bottom of his pint with a far off look in his eyes, Dean had to wonder would they have asked for it, if they’d known?

 

Dean ate little at the pub, his stomach twisted into a nervous knot, whilst his mind told him better to keep an empty stomach, easier to keep himself clean. Which was his reasoning for en-suite to their hotel room, (and why Dean had spent a ludicrous amount of money on two rooms when they only had intentions of using one), for his quick dash to the rest room when he believed they’d be staying in the hotel for the evening.

 

The book said that in order to engage in more intimate practices with a partner, a man had to ‘clean’ and ‘prepare’ beforehand and Dean has done just that.

 

It had been a strange sensation the first few times, a strange sensation indeed but not entirely unpleasant after patience and care. But such penetration was to feel as a woman did in a way, Dean had struggled with the thought for a good long while. Even now the association made him cringe.

 

But the actual sensation was pleasant, at least after the initial discomfort. Odd but nice, he supposed it would be more _rewarding_ with a partner.

 

Dean felt clean certainly, but knew he would need to prepare again when they went back to the hotel room.

 

 _If_ they went back to the hotel room, what with the way Castiel was nursing his cider, Dean wondered if they’d even get back to the room before dark.

 

Castiel was on his third cigarette since leaving the hotel room, all three having been smoked in enough of a rush that Dean was almost sure it had left him light headed. His current cigarette was burning low enough to reach his fingers, the end cherry bright. Castiel glanced over his shoulder at a particular boisterous laugh from a group of men in the back corner, before he dropped the fag end just before the flame nipped his skin.

 

Dean watched the men, dock workers, laughing and sloshing beer over their glasses as they cheered. They’d been growing steadily louder over the last hour or so, putting Castiel more and more on edge with every minute.

 

Castiel, Dean knew, was far more comfortable with men of a quieter sort. Even then, he did not need to ask why men of a certain sort put the Valet on edge. For all his charms and graces, Dean often too felt nervous, as he knew most men of his colouring would feel.

 

Rowdy men in big groups could be just as dangerous as any gun or dagger.

 

Dean finished off the last dregs of his pint then nudged Castiel in the shoulder, lowering his cloth cap a little more over his face.

 

“You want to retire?” he asked, trying not to sound too eager himself.

 

It must have worked for Castiel lowered his head as though he were the one asking to leave. “I’m sorry.” He said glancing back over his shoulder. Either by accident or by purpose, he shifted a little closer to Dean.

 

“Nah, don’t mind 'em, noisy buggars.” Dean smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “Let’s just relax a bit tonight hey? You don’t often get the time off to put your feet up.”

 

Castiel’s answering smile was shy and sunk a great leaden weight in Dean’s gut, releasing a flurry of nerves in his open chest.

 

The two men got to their feet, paid their bills and left the pub. Of similar height they walked in unison, steps matching on the cobblestone pavement slick with a fresh rain that had ceased a few minutes earlier. A couple passed by them; a man and a woman with arms interlaced, and smiles matching. Dean smiled at their impropriety, which sparked a longing fuse in his mind that he had to put a heel to; it was a silly thing to think under the circumstances. Of the couple’s closeness in comparison to his and Castiel’s own.

 

“You make my life sound terribly taxing.” Castiel spoke, adjusting his cap, the beginnings of a smile kicked up his lips, apparently easier now that they’d gone from the pub.

 

Beneath the cap Castiel’s hair would be all in a frazzle, mussed and stuck up from the material. The thought of it made Dean grin down at his shoes.

 

“Well it must be hard dressing and undressing me all the time.” He said.

 

They turned down a side path, a little darker than all the rest, cutting across the bridge back to the hotel. The sun was sinking below the tops of the high-rise buildings, London had dissolved into a blur of wet and grey. There were people still about, but not too many, the previous rain having drawn them back into the warmth. Dean tipped his cap to two passing gentlemen who kept their bowler hats a top of their heads, and ignored Dean and Castiel completely.

 

Their ignorance amused Dean who wondered what their reaction would be if they could recognise who he really was. The incidence amused Castiel as well, for he hid a sweet laugh behind one hand.

 

It was over-joying for Dean, to see that his Cas was breaking through, the lines around his bottle glass blue eyes deepening with his smile.

 

“Who’s clothes are those, that you’re wearing by the way?” Castiel asked him. “They’re a size and a half too big for you.”

 

“Benny if you would believe it.” Dean tugged on his lapels and gave a playful smirk. “This was his smallest suit.”

 

Castiel laughed openly then, his arm by his side, brushed against Dean.

 

Dean returned the touch with a gentle bump of his own.

 

“I chaperoned Sam and Jess over Christmas.” He said, “Don’t know why I had to, not as though they were about to duck off into an alley and do anything improper.”

 

“Lady Jessica is not that kind of woman?” Castiel asked.

 

“And Sam’s not that kind of man, anymore at least. But it’s nice this, you and me. Unlike those two we don’t need a chaperone.”

 

“Well there are reasons for that.” said Castiel demurely.

 

Dean swallowed. Yes there were reasons. “Would be a bit late, to serve the point.” He looked at Castiel from the corner of his eye, trying to judge the man’s expression. He was usually quite good at reading his paramour. “At least for the most part.”

 

It seemed such a silly thing worrying about, bringing this new physicality to their relationship. Yet it plagued Dean terribly and had done so for quite a long time. Since the topic had been brought up during the awful mess with Ruby. It was as though the idea were a grub niggling and burying away at the back of Dean’s brain. (Though if he were to be honest with himself the idea had been brewing a whole lot longer than that, if his particular reading materials brought home from American almost two years ago were of any proof).

 

It had been so long since Dean felt they’d been intimate that a part of him feared he’d have no idea what to do with himself when he finally got Castiel alone. Whether he’d ‘sprint’ as it were like a new born stallion to the 'finish line' only to fall flat on his face exhausted or be completely inept like some bumbling fool, like a virgin reborn all over again.

 

Castiel’s voice broke through his thoughts, cutting in half Dean’s insecurities, he spoke gently, and leant in close so the soft words carried over the space between them. His breaths puffed hot, a smoky caress against Dean’s cheek.

 

“While you were acting chaperone, were they happy?”

 

“Sam and Jess?” Dean asked after a moment of thought. Lost in his own thoughts, he'd forgotten what he and Cas were speaking of.

 

Castiel nodded.

 

Dean stood by Cas’ the simple heat of the other man beside him, closer than they ever could be in sight of others was enough to bring a smile crackling back up inside of him, stirring up heat.

 

“You know what young loves like, all consuming. He was like a kid at Christmas, the two were bloody inseparable. Here,” with a sudden burst of courage at the empty alley about them, Dean hooked his elbow to Cas’ and entwined their arms, drawing them ever closer together. “Walked like this they did, barely any space between them.”

 

Castiel stiffened in shock, but Dean did not let him go.

 

 _Please,_ he thought, _please lord above let me have this just once._  
  


A part of Castiel must have seen they were alone for he left their arms linked and even fell back into step. “You failed in your duty as chaperone, if you allowed them to be so close.”

 

There was warmth in Cas’ eyes as he spoke only muted because he keep his head down. Dean very much wanted to lean across and press a kiss to the Valet cheek, press him a little firmer to his side.

 

“Yes. But their practically children, at least they appeared as much with each other.” he said instead, speaking a little faster than normal, as if Castiel were about to pull away. “It is nice though.” He swung their arms a little bit, like a child with a basket.

 

At the jostled Castiel huffed out an amused breath. “I think-” he spoke, undoing their arms. Dean almost protested, but before he could, Castiel slid his hand down and entwined their fingers together. Palm to palm.

 

“This is better.” Castiel said his tone leaving no room for rebuttal.

 

Dean almost tripped over the next step, but Castiel’s hold kept it so that he didn’t fall completely.

 

 

oOo

 

 

The mood was entirely different from the beginning of the evening by the time Dean and Castiel returned to their hotel room. In privacy, Dean climbed up on top of the bed and kicked off the excessive collection of pillows, making room and making himself comfortable. Castiel watched him quietly, smiling, before he stood off to the desk.

 

“Let me.” Dean said, jumping up. He crossed to Cas’ side and gestured for the other man to turn around. Castiel did so, head tilted, but once Dean smoothed his hands over his shoulders in a familiarly platonic way, he seemed to settle and stretched out his arms for Dean to take his jacket.

 

Dean revelled in the small task, carefully releasing Castiel of his tweed. Once free of the garment Dean noticed Castiel turn to watch him fold the thing. Shifting the material in his hands Dean fiddled with the lapels intent on folding the clothes in half entirely.

 

It was Castiel’s gentle touch that stopped him.

 

“Place your hand here,” he said, and guided Dean’s hands to the scruff of the collar. His chest to Dean's back, his chin hooked over Dean's shoulder. “And then, push the shoulder through, so that the lining-” Castiel bent Dean’s hands to his whim, so his digits were tools Dean had no control of. “Faces out.”

 

“Who’d have thought they’d be a method for doing these things.” Dean said, as Castiel took the jacket from him, and placed it over the chair.

 

“There’s a proper way to do a great many things.” He said, extending his hand out for Dean’s jacket.

 

Full of love, Dean took Castiel’s hand in his own and kissed the back of it. He put his own jacket away, carelessly folded.

 

Dean's kiss must have left an impression on Castiel for he barely blinked an eye at the improperly discarded garment. Instead his mouth had split into a gorgeous gummed grin, pink shooting right up to his ears.

 

“Speaking of things proper,” Dean said and backed toward the bed, to his suitcase stored beneath. He pulled from his case a wrapped Christmas gift, and hid it behind his back. “I got you this.”

 

He handed it over to Cas, watching him expectantly.

 

Castiel laughed, smiling behind his kissed hand. Amusement in his blue eyes.

 

“You already knew.” Dean said.

 

Castiel shook his head, and stepped into Dean’s space. “I saw it when I unpacked your suitcase. But it doesn’t make the giving any less unexpected, you’ve already given me a gift.”

 

“That was from the family,” Dean said not missing a beat, “this is just from me.”

 

“I have something for you as well.” Castiel admitted, he pulled from the bedside draw something wrapped in brown paper and string. Castiel walked over to the bed and settled on it, gift in hand.

 

“Cas,” Dean said a little awed. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

 

“Of course I did.” Castiel said and kicked off his shoes with his toes.

 

It was the most relaxed action Dean had seen Castiel take that night, that in and of itself was a gift.

 

Once they were settled beside each other, shoes and hats discarded, practically naked in their shirts and slacks, each man passed over his own present.

 

Dean took his package from Castiel and shook it, whilst Castiel unwrapped his own soft and gentle, his fingers tugged carefully at the decorative paper, obviously not wanting to destroy it.

 

Dean unwrapped his with far less finesse. Tearing at the paper in excitement.

 

Castiel had brought him a pocket watch. A golden Elgin Pocket watch, Dean could see his reflection in the smooth back.

 

“ _Oh._ Dean. I love it thank you.”

 

Cas held in his hands a leather bound journal, the front page etched with a message, unsigned (Dean had learnt his lesson in that matter). Though the journal was small it’s pages were thick, easily able to hold the black ink Castiel could colour its pages with, scrawling down his thoughts, his desires. There was a brass latch on the side keeping it shut that could only be opened with a key which Dean had tied to the front for convenience. Dean had wanted very much to give Castiel a gift he would be able to treasure, and nothing spoke more of the stoic man beside him then a safe place to express his thoughts.

 

But Castiel had brought him a watch, that by the look of it had probably cost him a year wages at least.

 

“Cas, this must have cost you-”

 

“Don’t.” Cas said. He did not look up from his journal instead his was undoing the lock with the key. He flicked through the pages, his thumb sliding down the books spine. He looked almost meditative, taking the journal in for everything that it was, his fingers pressing over Dean’s messy scrawl inside the front cover. He read it twice moving his lips with the words.

 

“I know but it’s-”

 

“Do you like it?” Castiel asked looking up. The interruption to his speech was so unexpected that Dean’s mouth remained open and silent for a moment longer than the norm. Feeling warm from head to toe, Dean closed his mouth and met Castiel’s eyes.

 

In lieu of anything to say to express himself, Dean leant forward and kissed him.

 

Castiel’s response was tentative but sensual. He leant into the kiss setting his journal aside and grabbed Dean’s hand.

 

There was a blissful quiet between them only broken by exchanged breaths and a wet quiet. Dean deepened the kiss a little by trapping one of Castiel’s lips long enough to run the tip of his tongue over it, kissing his lower lip then his upper, before opening Castiel’s mouth for him, a hand to his jaw.

 

For some reason it seemed imperative to savour the moment, to appreciate it.

 

Castiel certainly seemed to appreciate it, he pressed his body in closer all but forcing Dean back down onto the bed. Seconds later he was laying down, Castiel above him, bracketing him with legs and arms. Dean’s hands were about Castiel’s waist who had one hand tangled in Dean’s hair. Stroking and pressing against each other, their mouths moved in tandem. A wonderful warmth filled Dean up, concentrating between his legs, which were parted around a strongly corded thigh belonging to the man above him.

 

“I have another gift for you, if you want it.” Dean spoke, the rapid rising and falling of his chest gave his words an airy quality.

 

Castiel ceased in kissing a smooth line down Dean's neck, he cocked his head. Hair terribly mussed from either Dean’s fingers or Castiel’s hat, Dean wasn’t sure.

 

Dean chose to take the lightness of Castiel’s touch to his chest, fingering at the buttons of his shirt as encouragement rather than protest.

 

He ran his hand up Castiel’s arm.

 

Seconds later his mouth was back on Castiel’s.    

 

The kiss remained all lips and gentle swipes deeper. Several times Dean felt Castiel panting for breath against his cheek when released, but the Valet’s hand on the back of his head remained direct in leading him into more kisses, angling Dean’s head to his design.

 

It was in such panting interludes that Dean felt Castiel’s crotch press and rut purposefully against his own, only reassuring Dean all the more.

 

Encouraged and a little aflame with delicious possibility, Dean pushed his hand down between them, his palm on the front of Castiel’s straining trousers.

 

Castiel accepted this new development with a moan, even going so far as to transfer his weight onto his side, lying beside and half a-top of Dean, to enable him to open one leg out and give Dean greater access. After a while of that and gentle stroking, Castiel put a halt to it; breaking of the kiss and shifting further to Dean’s side, lying less on top of him now.

 

Dean was momentarily concerned he had overstepped, but at the feel of frantic fingers at the button of his slacks his worry evaporated around a gasp.

 

The hand at Dean’s waistband dove down inside, skin to skin. Castiel grasped  and lightly massaged at his burgeoning erection. He pulled it free from Dean's boxers and pants and traced the wet head with a coarse thumb, nail and tip teasing his slit.

 

“Christ. _Cas._ ”

 

Castiel shushed him and took control of the clothing removal, ridding himself of his shirt, his under shirt, before doing the same to Dean. Dean snapped out of his own mind, bowed out at the middle under Castiel’s ministrations. While Castiel focused on their shirts he managed to work Castiel’s trousers open with one hand using his other hand to feel down to his hip, slipping into the back of his pants.

 

He was still relatively prepared, but by the stickiness rather than slick, Dean determined that he needed more oil.

 

Castiel’s touches, the way he stroked Dean’s cock in an even, practised rhythm, fingering the purpling vein on his shaft caused Dean to lose all hesitancy for his plan. He leant forwards until he had Castiel’s mouth back to his own, kissing him, this time allowing his tongue to linger against Castiel’s as his hand continued to coax and arouse him below the belt. Dean was relentless in the speed of his strokes, his actions firm save for the lingering press of his palms and fingers down the underside to Castiel’s scrotum, his balls.

 

It took a little more effort on his part to bring Castiel's trousers down past his knees.

 

“D-Dean, wait a moment I-”

 

Dean drew his hand back, pressing a gentle sucking kiss to Castiel’s jaw, his throat.

 

“It’s alright. I know what I’m doing now.” Dean said, wriggling about on his back as he slid down his pants and suspenders, his boxers quickly following. He searched about with his other hand, dipping down the side of the bed to his case where the small bottle of oil lay.

 

“Dean-”

 

Dean grasped the oil in one hand and brought it up triumphantly. He uncorked the neck drawing Castiel’s attention to the vial and began to drizzle a generous amount onto his other hand.

 

Of course when he began to arch up his hips, heels tucked beneath himself for elevation as he made to penetrate himself, the last thing he expected was for Castiel’s hand to still him.

 

“Stop.”

 

Dean’s heart was pounding; he couldn’t understand what he had done wrong. Had he read the signs wrong? Had he assumed Castiel wouldn’t want to be penetrated first when he would?

 

Castiel seemed close to leaping away. Dean started to edge back, lowering his hips back to the mattress and sitting up. A tight coil of regret started to unwind in his chest.

 

Maybe Cas didn’t understand what he was trying to offer.

 

“It’s alright. I-I uh, brought this oil and I’ve been practising.” A little abashed, Dean showed Castiel his wet fingers, as a drizzle of the cool oil trickled down his wrist. “I got a book, while I was in America,” Dean explained. “It teaches you how to clean yourself, which I-I managed to do before and how to use your hand-”

 

Dean felt his own face growing hot, he struggled to speak aloud the rest. Gentlemen didn't speak of such matters, not even in the bedroom.

 

Then he looked at Castiel’s face.

 

There was no confusion there, only blankness. The _servants blank_. It had been years since Dean had seen that look directed at him by Castiel, so long that the man was almost unrecognisable.

 

“You brought a book on Sodomy.” said Castiel, devoid entirely of emotion, despite his erection straining upward, hot at the tip and swollen.

 

Dean could feel himself leaking onto the bed cover. Though thoroughly aroused, his embarrassment and Castiel's expression had his erection flagging. He shifted and babbled, sliding to sit up and retain a little dignity. “Well, yes but you see _sex_ sound’s a lot better.”  Dean felt an icy tingling up his spine spreading out to his chest and ribs, the backs of his arms and down his legs.

 

Castiel was looking at him expectantly, demanding answers in his silence.

 

“The last time we were  _together_ , you remember? I touched you _there_ , with my-my fingers and you said we could perhaps explore that idea next time. So I thought you’d like to try this?”

 

“Dean-“

 

“But I didn’t want to presume you were to be the one _receiving_ so I’ve prepared myself in case you’d prefer-”

 

“It’s a sin.”  Castiel said, the quietness of his voice making Dean’s innards wince. “You’re asking me for this when you know it’s a sin against God.”

 

“A…a _sin_.” Dean said ineloquently. “You wanted to explore this last time, we’ve talked about trying this a few times-”

 

“And what,” began Castiel, his voice growing stronger as he moved backwards across the bed. “If I said that that is how I think of, of _that_. That _sodomy_ is not something I can allow myself to participate in. What would you say?”

 

Dean winced; hearing only a collection of garbled words that amounted to: _I do not want you._

 

“But I thought-”

 

“I cannot commit sodomy. Do you not think we have tested our luck and others good nature?”  Castiel hissed. He rose. Stuffing his shirt back into his pants. He pulled his suspenders over his shoulders with aborted, machinelike movements. “I can't do this. Not with you, not with anyone.”

 

“I’m sorry.”  Dean began, “I’ve handled this poorly, Cas, just wait-”

 

He reached out to stall Cas with one hand. The oil made his palm stick to Castiel’s sleeve, it was the disgust that flashed across Castiel’s face for the moment that stuck Dean in the heart like a bullet.

 

“Dean-” _let me go._

 

Dean had always thought he could read Castiel so well. His hand fell back to his side.

 

Castiel backed slowly away, tucking his wallet into his pocket. He collected his jacket, not even looking at Dean.

 

“I’m sorry.” he said. “I just need… I need a moment.”

 

Seemingly at a loss for any other explanation, Castiel turned on his heel, pulled the door open, uncaring for Dean’s bareness, he slipped through and closed it shut behind him.

 

Utterly confused and horribly embarrassed, Dean stared at the closed door for a long while, as oil stuck his fingers together, and smeared the material beneath him. There was no tightness in his throat, no twitching of his jaw, but Dean knew with absolute certainty that he was going to cry.

 


	5. Chapter Five

The heat started in Castiel’s chest, burnt through his stomach and limbs, even behind his eyes. His nails dug into his palm and it hurt, but really Castiel barely felt it.

 

As badly as he wanted to be with Dean, as badly as he wanted to sink into hi- sink into _that_ _kind_ of intimacy with him, Castiel was terrified.

 

Castiel was not a particularly idiotic man, nor a particularly ill-informed one. Sexual relations outside of marriage were illegal, immoral. And Castiel had been able to justify his own relations with Dean to himself all these years, by his belief that he and Dean were in love as a man and a wife were supposed to love each other and that it was not their fault that they couldn’t get married. For Castiel that faith was what the reconciliation between his religion and his love was based upon, a way for what he and Dean felt and did to be more acceptable or at least understandable.

 

But Castiel’s faith was shaken, the cracks of his foundations after years of stability were starting to show. Penetration; sodomy was another realm entirely, was another issue all by itself.

 

Perhaps the real issue was just exactly how much Castiel wanted to enter that realm. His desire to take that step with Dean was petrifying. When Dean had proposed that step (offered himself in such a way that Castiel couldn’t think about it without committing himself to public indecency) Castiel’s first thought was _yes, please._

 

His second was of how easily it was to discard every lesson he had been taught as a Christian; every thought that society held for such proclivities, everything Castiel had always been told about ‘men of his type’ had seemed so irrelevant in the wake of Dean's willingness.

 

For a man of his time, for a man of _God,_ that thought was more terrifying then any promise of Hell or prosecution.

 

But Castiel hadn’t thought this through, at least not in the space between Dean’s arms and the downstairs lobby. He needed to think, understanding that Dean’s safety (and only after: his own) needed to come first. He already regretted his emotions leading his actions, bringing him down here instead of remaining within the hotel room with Dean.

 

Castiel felt awful for causing him pain, Dean did all of this for him in an attempt to make their limited time together special and Castiel ruined it from his own cowardice and fear.

 

Something tight settled in Castiel’s throat, between his two steps outside the hotel and the twelve back in to the front desk, determination had settled into his bones, he needed to go back and make things right with Dean.

 

Even if he was not allowed back inside. 

 

“I’m sorry sir but I cannot see how-”

 

“I just came from upstairs five minutes ago.” It took everything in Castiel not to yell at the hostess, it was not right to raise ones voice at a lady. “You saw me come down, you checked us in.”

 

“Well I’m sorry sir but I cannot disclose or accept any admittance without the rentee’s name and authority.”

 

Of course Dean had used an alias, organised the accommodation and failed to remind Castiel of the necessary details. Even dressed in the clothes he had borrowed, up close there was no denying that Dean was of nobility, obviously the hostess had seen that and could not see the same in Castiel. At least not by the way she eyed his dress and demeanour, his cheap shirt and even cheaper shoes.

 

“I’m sure if you just send someone up to the room,” Castiel began, but thought better of the idea. Imagining an attendant or employee entering the room, finding the state of Dean and the space after what had just inspired, would be a disaster.

 

No, Dean wouldn’t want anyone seeing him that way.

 

“ _Sir_ you are making a scene.”

 

Castiel repressed the inclination to look about the empty lobby with disbelief, instead he swallowed his emotions and schooled his expression.

 

“Forgive me.” he managed. “If my…associate comes downstairs, please tell him I will be waiting in the lobby-”

 

The woman’s frown deepened.

 

“Outside,” Castiel amended with some reluctance.

 

She was still not appeased.

 

Castiel left her with as much dignity he could.

 

 

oOo

 

The anger started to form in the pit of Castiel’s stomach when the early evening air cooled his skin. He fumbled for a cigarette before realising that his lighter was left in the room upstairs, having fallen from his pocket when Dean had disrobed him.

 

Damn it.  

 

A part of Castiel (the part that most acutely felt the cold he was forced into) believed Dean should have known better than to spring this _decision_ on him. It was the same part of him that obsessed over how careful they had to be, how with a single act they could lose everything.

 

It didn’t matter that a year ago Dean had been ready to give it all up, Castiel too. That was then and this was now. Reality was a harsh mistress.

 

Anger was a good emotion, useful. Castiel was angry at himself now for not thinking properly. He was angry at Dean for not listening and ‘surprising’ him yet again. Castiel was angry that there was even an issue, with the world and the church and the law with it's opinions.

 

Perhaps it was better that Dean not see him now, to have their contact tainted by anger that was more deep seeded than Castiel gave it credit for being.

 

But then, anger could be useful.

 

 _Enquires and appointments_ , the advertisement had read, _1526 Magpie Lane, London._

 

Castiel’s feet set the pace as his eyes started to search out street signs.

 

oOo

 

The first time Castiel had read the advertisement he did not have enough time to process its contents before Ellen Harvelle interrupted.

 

The second time was a few minutes later in which Castiel was alone in his room, undressed from his livery and free from his duties. He sat, and he read and he sat some more, his head in his hands and his heart beating out of step.  It was a strange kind of mourning, in which Castiel went through the steps as stages of loss, something like grief and sadness and misery, all wrapped up into a few tears shed in the privacy of his own room. The language of the article was not necessarily upsetting, but as he read the words they blurred before his eyes, and he had to take a moment to set his breathing right half way through.

 

Castiel’s thoughts had been heavy that night and well into the morning.

 

The tenth time Castiel was irritated. _It is a revolution in corrective treatment,_ the article read. _The world most effective program for restoring natural urges._

 

 _Utter quackery_ , Castiel thought and had considered burning the pages. As there was nothing more natural, more basic and instinctual than what he felt for Dean. If these feelings were a choice (as the advertisement seemed to suggest) then who on earth would choose this? Such prejudice and ostracisation and loneliness? Who would choose that path in life if they had the chance to choose otherwise?

 

By the twenty seventh reading Castiel was angry and had shoved the offending article deep into the crevices of his suitcase, piling clothes on top of it and belongings, enough so he didn’t have to look at the damn thing. He wouldn’t let such nonsense poison his time with Dean, not when each moment with the man was so precious.

 

And yet he had done exactly that.

 

While at the bar sitting with Dean earlier that evening Castiel thought of the article then. He had watched the group of men over his shoulder laughing and joking amongst themselves. Barking about their workday and making inappropriate advances to the barmaid who served them.

 

Tradesmen, Castiel had guessed and guessed right.

 

There were times when Castiel wished he could reach down inside of himself and pull out his heart and every illicit feeling and desire that came with it. He wondered what it was like to be like other men. Normal men. The weight of it all felt condemning. Castiel supposed at some time all homosexuals felt that way.

 

It took a toll on a man, carrying that kind of secret around day by day, a secret only exasperated by the conditions and restrictions of his and Dean's lives, the roles they were made to play. 

 

But not those men, those men had nothing to fear, at least not in the way Castiel and Dean had from them.

 

The address led Castiel to a building off a a main road. That surprised him; he'd imagined such a place being more low profile, and yet here it was.  Castiel felt somewhat validated to find the centre lacking in visual appeal, thought right in the middle of affluent commercial properties. It looked more like office words than the centre of 'healing' the advertisement suggested. It was a lower than respectable establishment for a lower than respectable purpose. Castiel hated the building on sight. 

 

Inside was much of the same, nothing particularly extravagant nor exceptional.

 

Castiel hoped to disguise his (surprising) trepidation with speed. He walked quickly, entering the building, scouting the little desk set into the alcove beneath the stairs. A woman sat behind the desk, brown hair fixed into a simple but modern style. Her dress and jewellery the very picture of indulgence.

 

Castiel came to a halt in front of her and said nothing. She in turn did not lift her eyes from the magazine before her. This went on for a good minute; Castiel's discomfort and frustration increasing throughout. 

 

“Name?” The woman asked finally, barely looking up from her magazine. Castiel wondered how many print pieces contained the address of this location, and how many magazines were there out in the country with that called to the vulnerable and downtrodden.

 

“No, uh, you would not have it." It took a moment or so for Castiel to find the words to speak aloud, confronted with the image of a woman barely glancing up at him. “I saw the um, the advertisement, in the London Chronicle, _Exodus_ -”

 

“Well yes sir that’s genuinely what brings men here.” Said the woman demurely, she flipped the next page with an ungloved hand, her nails long and sharp.

 

The edge to her tone was uninviting. Castiel struggled to keep his expression respectable, wondering if she knew of the suffering befalling the men who gained appointments through her. “I was hoping I could see a Doctor Richards…?”

 

_-accredited psychotherapist Dr Richards promises change is possible-_

 

At Castiel’s change in tone the woman finally looked up. She arched a brow rather snidely, the action reminded Castiel of Ruby.

 

“If you would like to book an appointment-”

 

“No.” said Castiel firmly, “I do not. I do not want that.”

 

The woman seemed surprised. Obviously she did not receive many men like Castiel here for anything but an appointment.

 

She smoothed down the front of her dress behind the counter, and straightened her shoulders. “Then I don’t see why-”

 

“I need to see Dr Richards. _Immediately_.”

 

“Sir I-”

 

“You don’t understand,” Castiel persisted, hands flat on the counter, unaware of the way his own voice rose enough to make the woman flinch. “I _need_ to see him.”

 

“Well I apologise of course but you cannot see Dr Richards without an app-”

 

“Bela,” The man who peaked through the door behind the receptionist- Bela- was thin, with a gaunt face, dark hair and eyes. His suit was absurdly navy, he looked to be of middle class, which Castiel supposed was attributed to his position of Doctor, if his appearance and address presented as much.

 

Doctor as if the man before Castiel could place claim on the word.

 

“Is there a problem?” he asked, his gaze went from Bela and fixed on Castiel, something that could have been realisation, or even understanding flicked in his gaze, but before he could say anything- weasel his way into Castiel’s head with his twisted words, Castiel advanced.

 

“CAS!”

 

 _Dean._ Castiel’s mind registered his own name from behind him only a second before his fist connected with Dr Richards face.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to do a lot of revising in this last few chapters because you know when Dean and Cas rip up the ending and the rules in Chuck's books? Yeah, bastards pulled a fast one on me.
> 
> Probably gonna be another three four chapters of this particular instalment if Dean and Cas just do as I've mapped out (bets on that anyone?)

When Castiel was fifteen he came back from his half day in the middle of summer black and blue with a shiner as deep and dark as pen ink.

 

Bobby had been furious. Ellen concerned.

 

Dean had been shocked; for Castiel’s battered and bruised appearance was so very at odds with the beautiful and kind boy he knew. Castiel who in the most literal sense of the phrase wouldn't hurt a fly. He was a boy who walked around with stars in his eyes but when he’d returned home that evening an hour behind the other hall boys all the stars in his eyes had fallen down.

 

It had been almost a week before Dean had gotten any time alone with the boy. Castiel’s bruises had faded into a sickly splotches of yellow and green, his posture was a little stiffer than before, his eyes a little more downcast.

 

But as his best mate it didn’t take Dean long to gain the truth out of the other boy.

 

“It was wrong what they were’doin.” Castiel sniffed, some of his accent leaking through his carefully constructed servants façade, crumbling in the line of his shoulders, the way he pressed against Dean, eyes down.

 

There was a dog, he explained, a stray walking the streets. Castiel had been passing by when a group of boys years older than he had advanced on the poor creature, subjecting the half-starved animal to beatings and jeers. Pelting rocks and chasing it, and no one around tried to stop them.

 

Castiel explained he couldn’t just stand by and let them torture the poor thing. He’d tried to assist, protect the animal from further harm, but then the boys thought it far more amusing to pick on Castiel instead.

 

He’d held up his own as best he could. But not well enough to come out unscathed, the dog at least had been made safe, for a day or two at least.

 

Which was the part Dean realised Castiel found most heartbreaking.

 

Dean at fourteen could do little else than wrap his arms around Castiel’s shoulder’s and drawn him into his side.

 

That was the first time Dean watched as Castiel martyred himself for the sake of others and it wouldn’t be the last.

 

Ruby and her schemes had seen to that.

 

And now this.

 

“CAS!”

 

English gentlemen like Dean used stern words and even sterner expressions to express disgust.

 

Country boys like Castiel, apparently threw fists.

 

The sudden occurrence of violence had thrown Dean through a heavy loop, he jolted forward into the small lobby grabbed and pulled back Castiel before another punch could be thrown to the man who could only be described as weasely.

 

Even with blood gushing from his nose.

 

Castiel struggled against Dean’s hold for a moment. The man, doctor assaulted stumbled forward, clutching his nose in a yelp of pain. Dean regretted the woman’s presence in the room, for she screamed and darted around her desk hand reaching for the phone.

 

“You’re an animal!” The woman shrieked in rage, pointing an accusing finger to Castiel who didn’t even flinch.

 

“You are the animals!” Castiel snarled, struggling against Dean in a fit of rage.

 

A dawning of understanding fell upon Dean; his grip of Castiel was fierce and sweaty. His heart picked up its pace in his chest.

 

Had it been any other situation Dean would have found such a statement worthy of praise, but as it was experience had taught him the wisdom of keeping his head down when in such a place as this, with such people. Dean had been to war, he’d spent his time in America and been threatened with prison, hell he’d had Ruby to contend with and the threat of exposure, but it seemed that none of that, in Castiel’s own experience had impacted upon his ability when it came to picking his battles.

 

The image of Castiel snarling and behaving like a feral cat effectively kicked Dean into motion.

 

“Don’t!” He spun Castiel around so he was facing the door, and shoved him in the direction of the street. “Outside. Walk. Go.”

 

It took a bit of effort to get Castiel out onto the street, as the woman behind them called for the police and the man in the coat spouted hate filled words.

 

Castiel surged out ahead, perhaps realising what an error he had made, or most likely furious for he kicked at the road and dirtied the toes of his shoes as Dean dashed after him.

 

“I wish I could set that place on _fire_!” Castiel shouted, though at this time of night, with such fighting words, hopefully the few people who heard thought him a drunkard.

 

“For gods sake Castiel!” said Dean, “If you’re going to spout off like that do you realise how much would have to burn to be rid of all the people who think like that lot? Practically the world Cas! You’d have-ta burn down all of Britain at _least_!”

 

Dean’s words had a sobering effect; an ugly flash of realisation crossed Castiel’s face and he paused in his step.

 

The two men looked at each other and between them understood the horrible truth.

 

Nowhere was safe. Nowhere. Not for men like them.

 

A whistle sounded down the street. Car's passed by on the road, carriages clopped beside them.

 

Dean grabbed Castiel’s shirt collar and tugged him forward.

 

“We have to go.”

 

Behind, the police officers drew closer to the program centre, hot from the receptionist's call.

 

Soon they’d pick up on Castiel and Dean's trail, charge them for assault if not gross public indecency and assaults of a criminal nature.

 

Castiel grabbed Dean’s wrist and broke into a sprint. Dean was pulled along for a moment before he caused his legs to work. Castiel held onto him long enough just to ensure Dean’s following before he let him go. The two of them pounded down the pavement and away, into the darkness of an ally way to the left.

 

“Quick through here.”

 

Dean tugged Castiel into the alleyway, releasing his paramour as soon as they were out of sight. He leaned forward heavily on his knees, back against the wall as he lungs struggled to remember how to take in air. God he hadn't run like that in years, not even during the house cricket matches...

 

Castiel was in much the same position. A red band of colour had appeared high on his cheek bones. His sharp nose was turned down, his eyes on the ground beneath him as he panted.

 

“How did you find me?” he asked, words like crunched gravel spoken between each laboured breath.

 

Dean took a few gulps before managing to say. “Found this in your suitcase.” He pulled from his jacket pocket the scrunched up… _advertisement_ \- one would call it, for a program called _Exodus,_ torn from the London magazine.

 

_Child molesters, perverts, animals, sinners-_

 

Sinners was the one that hit home most, Castiel’s words from a short time ago struck Dean in the chest like darts, digging deep.  
  
  
Dean wanted to punch the valet's lights out for allowing such rubbish to influence him so.

 

Castiel grimaced, looking down at the page in Dean’s grip. His hand by his side clenched and unclenched as Dean slid the offending article back into his pocket.   
  
  
  
“You had the page marked.” said Dean and sniffed.

 

Castiel stared down at his feet, his silence.

 

Dean rubbed a shaking hand over his face, swallowing around the harsh lump in his throat.

 

“Christ you’re an idiot.” he said, whether to himself or Castiel he couldn’t exactly tell, he walked down the alley way, Castiel close by his side. It took Dean a moment to orientate himself, find the direction of their hotel and set down that path, Castiel was unnervingly quiet the whole time, scraping his feet more than lifting them.

 

Dean turned on his partner then and repressed the urge to shove him, or drag him into a hug and plead with Castiel never to leave him in such a way again, to please stop running from him.

 

“Why’d you come here Cas? To punch a bloody doctor who, quite frankly looked as though he'd barley handle a beating? Why’d you keep it?”

 

“I wanted to see,” Castiel paused for a rough moment. “I wanted to know why. Why a man would do _that_ to himself? Surely if they truly believed that they could find a cure for their nature, they'd choose less...less well, _inhumane_ methods. I didn't sought out the man to hit him, that sort of just...happened.”

 

Dean scoffed and kicked at a stone in his path.

 

Castiel lifted his eyes, his mouth cut a grim picture. “What?”

 

“Nothing I,” Dean did not fall into Castiel’s gaze but rather looked around him, over his shoulder. Not for the first time he wished he had the skills of a man who could pull off the servant’s blank. “I just think that’s the first time you’ve ever lied to me.”

 

 _Or I hope it is at least._ Dean thought.

 

He must have said the words aloud for Castiel’s expression sank, the furrows of his face deepening. “It’s not in my nature to lie to you Dean,” he said then smiled a little hesitantly, “not when you could just order me to speak the truth.”

 

Castiel’s joke fell flat, Dean withdrew a little back into himself.

 

“Don’t joke Cas, not when I’m trying to understand.” The echo of Castiel’s smile fell and Dean felt horrible, and felt even more horrible when he next said; “Did you- any part of you want to go through with it?”

 

“No Dean I-“ Castiel began, then sensed that his lies would only hurt more, he swallowed his next words then began again. “I admit for a moment- a single _moment_ the thought crossed my mind, but I was just so angry that-that such a thing should exist at all, to give men hope, and to take it away. That more than anything I just wanted to know why, and wanted to know how to make it stop.”

 

He craned his neck an attempt to meet Dean’s gaze. “I have loved you for such a long time, what I feel for you, what we have together is one half of who I am. I wanted to know why someone would give that up. But then after- after your offer I made a mistake and couldn’t see past it. And when I tried to come back upstairs I didn't know the name and the bleeding woman at the desk wouldn't let me in. After everything the idea of a- of a reprieve seemed heaven sent, almost.”

 

“But then I realised, and I remembered the stories, of what happens in such places. And I got angry,” Castiel admitted. “At myself more than anything, because I was having doubts, because I hurt you by leaving, _again._ ”

 

Even as he walked Castiel’s posture was stiff. His eyes were keen on Dean as though checking his reactions, his behaviour to what Castiel was saying.

 

There was a whistle to the right and Dean froze, hand instantly set to Castiel’s chest stilling him, at the same time that Castiel extended his own hand, curling his delicate fingers along Dean’s wrist as though in an effort to pull him back.

 

A motor cab passed with no sign of the authorities. Dean relaxed, if only minutely, though same as Castiel, neither released the other from his protection.

 

Castiel’s heart beat an unsteady rhythm against his palm. A moment of dark silence passed before Dean dropped his hand and stepped back onto the lamp lit street.

 

“We need to speak. Properly, Cas. We need to speak.”

 

Castiel stepped into Dean’s side so that their shoulders touched. “Not here.” He said, eyes along the street watching every moving shadow or sign of life.

 

You’d think they were murders for how each was acting. Murders instead of homosexuals hiding in the shadows.

 

For some there was hardly a difference. Criminals were criminals regardless of the nature of their crime.

 

Most would treat the murderers with more human decency.

 

“No,” Dean agreed, nerves shot through. His worry and scorn from earlier had settled into a quiet anger, which had him stepping out from Castiel’s side, probably more so than anything else. “Not here, back at our room.”

 

He gave Castiel little chance to comment before he set off down the path back to their expensive and thus far unused hotel room.


	7. Chapter Seven

They entered the hotel room in silence, Dean walking ahead of Castiel and Castiel following quietly behind.

 

Castiel closed the door behind him. He considered for a moment adjourning to his own separate room, but Dean had expressed a desire to talk which was a rare thing within itself, rare enough that Castiel felt wrong to refuse him.

 

The room was darker now that night had fallen. Dean moved about the room to light the candles, Castiel wanted to help him, but with a stern look cast his way from over Dean’s shoulder, he sat down on the bed instead.

 

“Dean?” he said as Dean walked over to the window and drew the curtains. He began to undress, back turned to Castiel.

 

“Dean?”

 

Down to his trousers and underclothes Dean turned to Castiel. He looked down at the valets hands, curled in his lap.

 

“Well tonight’s taken a shoddy turn hasn’t it?” He said, padding over to the bathroom. He returned in a moment with a sopping cloth, and knelt between Castiel's knees by the bed side, taking Castiel right hand up to inspect it with a concerning eye. The knuckles of Castiel’s hand were split, dried blood reddened his skin. Castiel hadn't even noticed until Dean drew attention to it. But now aware, the offending hand had begun to sting, his fingers resisting movement. Dean wiped at the abuse with tender touches, a strip of white cloth soaked in water.

 

For a moment Castiel’s breathing was the only sound in the room.

 

All too soon Castiel spoke, his voice breaking the morbidity of the room. “I want to ask for your forgiveness, if I can still ask for such a thing.”

 

The next swipe of Dean’s hand stung a little, Castiel made an aborted attempt to draw back and hissed. Dean dabbed him a little more gently, his eyes downcast.

 

“Dean, I’m sorry I left you.”

 

“So you should be.” Dean said but without the heat Castiel expected of him. Rather he sounded wounded, and resolutely refused to look up from his task, even when Castiel’s hand were cleaned and dressed. “We were in the middle of something quite-christ- _really_ important. Important to me, and you I thought.”

 

Dean may have had a more feminine face than any other man Castiel had ever met but he was by no means a chit. Homosexual, yes.... Oscar Wilde, no. He enjoyed the hardness of life as much as the next man. Castiel knew that even if Dean had had some more feminine tastes or been wilder that that didn’t stop him from being a man.

 

Neither did the tears which Dean valiantly fought back, wiping off with his other hand.

 

The remaining quiver apparent in Dean’s voice made Castiel feel sick to his stomach. “You are always important to me Dean.” He said.

 

Dean remained silent. Though his hold on Castiel’s hand shifted, only the smallest amount.

 

“You read the article?” Castiel asked, his voice small.

 

“I did. Yes.” said Dean. He rose, no longer kneeling by the bed side, he stood up only to sit beside Castiel, a scant space between them. He rubbed a hand over his face, through his hair, over the back of his neck, massaging what seemed to be a tight knot there.

 

“I read it and all I could think was that ‘Cas has never made apologies for us before, why start now?’ I thought, Cas is smarter than that, better than that. But with you leaving and what you said...I know that Ruby changed things. I know that being out in the open with you, at least down stairs that that has made things difficult for you-”

 

Castiel turned his face away. He did not like to think of that time, of Ruby, whose threats still hung in the air Castiel breathed, those months of utter hopelessness still a heavy weight on his heart. That week away from the Abbey when all the stars had gone out.

 

“When we spoke that night I got you back.” Dean began. “We agreed we’re stronger together, you promised you wouldn’t leave me again.”

 

It seemed out of the whole night the event that had truly effected Dean was Castiel’s abandonment of him.

 

That probably hurt more than anything.

 

Dean caught Castiel’s eye and held it. Castiel wondered what Dean saw in his gaze, what held his attention so securely.

 

“Obviously this isn’t working.” Dean said. At odds with his words he reached over and gripped Castiel’s hand with his own.

 

Castiel could almost gasp for how quickly the ground fell out from beneath him. “Dean?”

 

He couldn’t say anything more, for Dean’s other hand came up and touched at the corner of Castiel’s mouth with his thumb. Castiel closed his eyes on instinct and was not disappointed to Dean’s tender touch, stroking his cheek, his lips his chin. His other hand moved out of Castiel’s and cupped his face too. Castiel could feel Dean’s breath against his mouth before he felt his lips, but in that time thought he might die from wanting the touch so much.

 

When Dean kissed him, his mouth was cool, and tasted of cider. Castiel found himself grasping at Dean with clutching hands, his knuckles stung as he fisted his hands in Dean’s undershirt.

 

He kept his eyes closed as Dean just kept touching him.

 

Fingers in his hair, fingers along his neck, hands falling to his shoulders pulling him closer, holding him near. Dean stayed close, methodically undoing Castiel by kissing him over and over, soft gentle kisses and then kisses that made Castiel gasp.

 

“Castiel,” Dean said, thumbs touching Castiel’s bottom lip. "You are the most beguiling man I have ever met."

 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel tried to say, unsure at strictly what he was apologising for but then Dean was tugging him nearer, and wrapping his arms around Castiel’s shoulders and hugging him close, one hand in Castiel’s hair, soothing him as though Castiel was an upset child.

 

“You and me Cas, we have to place some laws between us otherwise we’ll only continue to cause each other pain.” Dean said, petting him gently.

 

Castiel breathed slowly. He hugged Dean back, holding the lord tightly. “I will not leave you. I promised I never would and I’m sor-”

 

Dean kissed him. “I know. And I also know that it isn’t just that- isn’t you alone.” Dean sighed and gave a tight smile, possibly in an effort to lighten the mood. “When we return home, no more of that Lord Dean shite alright?”

 

The request in itself surprised Castiel, though really it probably shouldn’t have. “Dean-”

 

“I mean it Cas. I understand it is all a part of your position, I do and you can address me like that when in the presence of others because I don’t want to see you reprimanded but please,” he said, and gave Castiel a watery pleading look. “Even when we’re on the estate, please don’t be so distant with me.”

 

“It really means that much to you?”

 

Dean shrugged, and gave a half shy laugh. “It does, yes.”

 

Castiel took some hesitancy when he spoke his next words. “With that then there is a something that I too need for you to- to respect."

 

Dean waited silent, expectant.

 

“If we want our relationship to work,” Castiel began, swallowing deep, “then you have to respect my boundaries while I'm under your employ.”

 

“When you’re Novak.” Said Dean.

 

Castiel shook his head. “I’m not separating myself like that,” splitting himself down the middle, thinking of himself as both Castiel Dean's lover and Novak Dean's Valet, but never at the same time was no way to live a life. Castiel was a creature who was a whole and Dean needed to see him for that or not at all.

 

“Sometimes you want more of me, ask more of me than I am able to give. I can’t have you propositioning me or trying to initiate such contact when Singer has forbade it. You need to give me space to be professional.”

 

“But that joke with the sugar bowl the other day,” said Dean a little desperately, “it’s those, those little things that make me feel… _close_ , to you. In a manner of speaking.”

 

“And I love being able to have that with you.” Castiel corrected him, taking and squeezing Dean’s hands in his own. “I do. But I am talking more about your proclivity of undressing yourself well before time. For making very important decisions about our physical relationship without consulting me. About shifting and changing your dress so much that it interrupts my work, touching me in public and flirting-”

 

Castiel could go on, but Dean's expression stopped him. They both understood the picture well enough.

 

“I’m sorry.”  Dean said, sounding truly regretful. “But you must understand that it’s hard for me to be with you sometimes, when I can’t actually _be_ with you. To have you near me but not be able to have you.” He wet his lips and cleared his throat, casting his eyes about before continuing. “There’s not much I can do about what goes on in my head, whatever I feel about anything else, I can’t stop wanting you.”

 

And oh Castiel felt it, he felt Dean’s words so much that he ached. But if they were reshaping the way they operated on estate land then Castiel had to do and say what he could to keep faith, to keep comfortable in being intimate in such a way with Dean.

 

He needed to feel stable and sure in their relationship, no more misconceptions and avoidances, no more lies or unwanted surprises.

 

“These have to be enough, my half-days, these holidays, they have to be enough.”

 

"They are, they have been, more than men like us would normally get."

 

Castiel acknowledged that sentiment with a small smile, that fled from his lips as the tidal wave of what needed to be spoken of next rested heavy against him. "As for this evening when you, when you _offered_ yourself to me," Castiel blushed just thinking about it, his skin unbearably hot. "You should have told me in some manner or at least given me a chance to voice consent."

 

"I was afraid you wouldn't want to." Dean said a little brokenly, his own freckled face flushed with more embarrassment than arousal.

 

Castiel swallowed, his next words before he spoke them caught and tugged at the edge of his Adam's apple, crackling rough in his throat. "I won't lie to you. A part of me doesn't  _want_  to. Or at least doesn't want me to want to." Castiel brushed his fingers down Dean's arm, past his wrist to entwine their fingers together. "But please Dean, don't ever mistake my feelings regarding sodomy as my feelings for you. I only ask that you don't put me in a position again in which I feel forced."

 

Dean exhaled shakily, not removing his hand from Castiel's grip but not particularly comforted by it either.

 

"I may feel belligerent about the idea of sod-of penetrative sex on principal," Castiel managed, choosing his wording carefully. "You know my faith is personal to me, and me alone. More so in the last year than ever before. It may take me some time to warm back up to the idea, if at all, I want you to know that. "

 

“Should have just kissed you.” Dean said with a sigh. He glanced up at Castiel to invite the other man to share in his painful attempt at mirth. “But no, have to go running off my mouth talking about emotions and rules…”

 

“Perhaps there’s such a thing as being too honest.” Castiel offered. "But you needed to hear it from me, my words, my voice, not the thoughts I know you conjure within yourself, blaming yourself and feeling guilty or unloved."

 

Dean ducked his head abashed though he kissed the back of Castiel's hand in answer.

 

“I can do that for you. All of it.” he breathed the words against Castiel’s bruised knuckles. "I'll wait however long, behave however you need."

 

Simple as they were, Dean’s words were expressed in such a manner that they raised the hairs on the back of Castiel’s neck and made him smile.

 

“We’re in agreement then,” Castiel affirmed. “More communication, less deception-”

 

“Less insanity?” Dean smirked.

 

Castiel had missed that certain boyish kick to his lips.

 

“And you’re happy to voice your feelings, your ideas to me?” he asked a disbelieving lit to his words.

 

“You sacrifice a lot to be with me Cas,” Dean replied, “It is the least I can do and I want to do for you. Whatever you need."

 

The warmth that bloomed in Castiel's chest, the sense of security he gained from that statement rivalled all other emotion.

 

“I love you.” he said. Plainly, simply. Though the words came out on a yawn that caught Castiel by surprise.

 

Outside the sky was black lit, only the faintest of lights visible through the gaps in the curtains, painting yellow pictures on the hardwood floor.

 

Dean's smile was indulgent, wicked quick to his lips which Castiel loved very much. The whole man before him he loved an immeasurable amount and a part of the Lord seemed to know that.

 

He shifted back on the bed toward the headboard and patted the space beside him. “Come lie down Cas.”

 

Castiel smiled in turn then removed his clothes; stripping off to his underclothes not bothering to change. He stood to fold his and Dean’s own discarded clothes as Dean made a soft sound of amusement watching him. With the candles blown out and the lights turned down Dean shuffled aside to make room for him. Castiel slid under the covers and accepted the arm that Dean reached out to rest, curling into Dean’s side. Dean let him rest his cheek against Dean’s chest. He squeezed his hand resting around Dean by way of comfort.

 

This was Castiel favourite part being with Dean; like this. He thought quiet truly that he could stay with the lord in such a way forever.

 

“Love you too, you numpty.” Dean said into Castiel’s hair, his fingers stroked Castiel’s arm.

 

Castiel struggled between the yearning to close his eyes in deep contentment and his eagerness to look at Dean and watch him till all the world faded away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favourite 1920's word is now numpty. Everyone is a numpty. numpty numpty numpty


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nice long chapter because I really appreciate all the support behind this verse :)

It took a moment for Castiel to remember the previous day's events upon waking. He worked through his own confusion amongst feather down pillows, a plump bunched up quilt about his waist. Dean was a long line of heat pressed against his back, his arm encircled Castiel's waist, limp with unconsciousness. His fingers brushed against Castiel's stomach with every deep inhale into the sheets which smelled faintly of lavender.

 

The hotel certainly spared no expense in regards to the luxuries they provided.

 

Dean's breath was on Castiel's neck, deep, steady, in the way Castiel pictured waves rolling out from the shore then back into land, a rhythm one could set a metronome to.

 

Castiel rolled over to look at him.

 

Dean was indeed beautiful, with his baby-pink lips and soft features hardening with age by his jaw, his light eyelashes gently cresting his freckled cheeks yet apart from his beauty Castiel knew him to be insightful, caring, streetwise and charming; admirable in a way that few men were. But all of that was just a mere grass blade to the Dean's simple company made Castiel feel, as though their souls were in resonance with each other, a distinct feeling of companionship, of being 'not alone'.

 

Perhaps that is what those men did not have, driven by a desperate loneliness to seek corrective treatment, because they did not have a Dean in their lives. Someone who understood and that they could turn to.

 

Castiel was in no such position, couldn't imagine being so- the thought of a life without Dean made the world instantly dull.

 

 _In this moment I am yours and you mine._  Castiel thought, rolling in closer he kissed Dean's cheek and smiled when Dean's eyes moved for a moment behind closed lids. _You are mine and when I am elderly and grey I will remember you in this moment clearly and treasure all that there is between us._

 

With the thought came a possessiveness to which Castiel was unaccustomed. He gently pressed kisses to the other mans body. Slow and unencumbered, he kissed Deans shoulder, his hand rested gently on Dean's abdomen. After a while in which Castiel's kisses became a little more purposeful, Dean slowly returned to wakefulness, black pupils adjusting as he blinked away sleep.

 

“Mornin'.” Dean smiled, and pressed his chin more readily to the pillow. He watched Castiel with sleepy eyes and a sleepy smile, beautiful even in the morning light.

 

“Hello.” Castiel mumbled back.

 

Dean shuffled closer, lifted his head from the pillow until he was leaning over Castiel, an answering hand on his hip. “Can I kiss you?”

 

Castiel's lips instinctively twitched. “Of course.”

 

Dean moved up from beneath the covers , one hand slid to balance himself over Castiel, palm to his chest, the other held him steady via the mattress. Dean bent down eradicating the distance between them. Castiel opened his mouth meeting Dean halfway. Their lips smacked and smeared, the beginnings of stubble burnt both their cheeks, their swelling lips. Castiel didn't care that their breath was tainted by morning, he only wanted Dean's mouth and hands, turning him into the feverish creature he already was beneath.

 

“Mm―” Dean rested more heavily on Castiel, a thigh slotted between Castiel’s knees. Castiel's hands both fisted into Dean's sides, gripping the swell of skin and flesh there.

 

“I said yes to a kiss not a snog.” Castiel smiled. His brain felt numb but his body felt on fire.

 

“Then say yes to a snog.” Dean said, reaching out to run his fingers deftly down Castiel's side. There wasn't any heat behind it, Castiel knew Dean's touches, was able to pick the differences between them: when Dean was playful or sincere or lustful, or simply just touching because he _could_.

 

Castiel blinked up at the ceiling as Dean's mouth worked its way across from his shoulder to his chest, up his throat; leaving soft, feather light kisses against his skin. Dean's, breath tickled pulling goosebumps, which made Castiel burrow beneath the blankets a little more, keeping heat trapped between them.

 

Castiel sighed, a coil of pleasure in him unwinding. The feel of Dean's erection pressing into his hip, was a welcome touch that had Castiel's stomach swooping.

 

Which of course was when a knock came on the door.

 

“Goddamnit.” Dean breathed, eyes falling closed. He fell back against the bed when the second knock sounded.

 

With far more speed than Castiel realised he possessed he rose, kicked over onto the side of his bed and wrapped himself in one of the hotel robes folded inside the bedside draw.

 

“Go take care of yourself in the bathroom.” Castiel said, waiting until Dean shuffled off to the bathroom before he approached the door himself and opened it, blocking sight into the room, and the workers entrance should they try to enter.

 

The maidservant stood obediently by her station a trolley on which were two breakfast trays.

 

“Hello.” Castiel said, then only realised how idiotic that was. If he were in her position, as he had been many times, being greeted by who he was servicing would be bizarre and at the least uncomfortable.

 

“Morning sir.” she said, discomfort written in every line of her youthful face. She kept her gaze downward an act of respect rather than rudeness and Castiel felt instantly torn for placing her in such a position. Feeling an uncomfortable flash he moved aside allowing her access to the room.

He was ashamed for the state of the room, the tossed aside clothes but knew that it was not part of the girls position to comment.

 

Dean was in the bathroom, silent, the maidservant probably didn't even have any idea that Castiel was not alone in this hotel room.

  
“Thank you.” Castiel said as she settled a single tray on the bedside for him.

 

She said nothing and it was better for it. When she left the room Castiel breathed a sigh of relief, until he realised that the next room on her route was the room next door, the room Dean had also paid for, to keep up the cover for their affair.

 

Castiel swore, dove into the next room through the adjoining door. The room was immaculate, untouched. As much as it pained Castiel to do so, he leapt onto the bed and ruffled the sheets, the pillows, almost jumping out of his skin as the maidservant knocked politely on the door.

 

Castiel went to the door, then stopped, ran a hand through his hair to mess it up and swallowed a few times to clear his throat.

  
When he opened the door Castiel tried his hardest to look different, he smiled, till his jaw ached. When the maidservant looked up at him her mouth opened and she blinked a few times.

 

“Oh.”

 

“My brother is next door.” Castiel explained, forcing his voice higher, enough so that it felt uncomfortable. “We are twins.”

 

It was possibly the single most idiotic thing Castiel had ever done, aside from punching a fake medical doctor in the face and taking up with a member of the upper class when he was fourteen.

 

The maidservant just nodded her hair, stared at him a moment, before righting herself as as she turned to her cart, picking up the tray. She came into the room just glancing at the bed.

 

Castiel didn't say thank you this time, he'd made both her and himself uncomfortable enough.

 

She left with barely a glance at him. Shutting the door behind her, Castiel leant his forehead against the door and sighed.

 

In the opposite room Dean cross-legged on top of the blankets the breakfast tray in his lap. Castiel entered the room and deposited his robe on the back of the chair before joining him, holding his breakfast tray in his hands.

 

“That was rather fast.” he said seeing Dean rather absent of an erection. He pulled himself up onto the bed with his own tray and leaned back against the headboard.

 

“Took care of itself.” Dean commented, he watched Castiel crawl back to his side with something almost a smile. “You know in America they serve their breakfasts as a Buffet? Everyone just goes down stairs and serves themselves. It's like a circus over there.”

 

“That's ridiculous.” Castiel said staring on his own food. He'd only ever eaten breakfast in bed a few times, mostly when caught with flu maybe once or twice, he'd heard of a buffet and knew such serving practices happened. Singer and Miss Mills would have a coronary even contemplating holding such a thing at the Abbey.

 

“Honest they did.” Dean said through a mouthful. He took another bite of his buttered toast and brushed the crumbs onto the tray. “You have to eat up Cas, big day ahead.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Ummhmm.” Dean swallowed before explaining. Castiel in turn bit into his own toast, the buttery toast, eggs and bacon very welcome on his tongue. “Came to me that you haven't been up to London when it hasn't involved you working, even over Christmas, Cas-”

 

Dean put his tray off his lap and down beside him. He reached over and kissed Castiel's check whilst stealing a slice of Castiel's bacon with his fingertips.

 

“I'm your fancy man,” Dean smiled, “it's my job to treat you to a good time.”

 

Castiel smiled, his cheeks straining with just how wide his smile was. “And I am _your_ fancy man, I'd like to do you same courtesy.”

 

“You already do.” Dean kissed him then with Bacon fat lips and an orange juice tongue. “Figures we're just a couple of fancy men.” Dean said then laughed, enough that it made Castiel crack a smile around the last remnants of his toast.

 

At least until his sense returned to him. “Should we- should we talk about last night?” he asked.

 

Dean looked at him a moment then said rather seriously. “Do you have anything to add that does not consist of another apology?”

 

Castiel's silence was an answer, what else was there to say.

 

He would make it up to Dean, somehow.

 

Dean clapped him on the shoulder and got up from the bed. “There you go then, eat up.” he kissed Castiel once more on the forehead, hand cupped to his cheek, his thumb tracing the ridge of one cheekbone. Castiel leant a little forwards into the affection so freely given, soaking It up. The tray over his lap jostled, his orange juice dribbled down the side of his glass.

 

“Try not to spill,” Dean told him. “We'd hate to give the place ants.”

 

“If only you showed the same concern for your own bedroom.” Castiel teased.

 

Dean smiled brilliantly and leaned over to kiss Castiel on the mouth. He tasted like breakfast and Castiel grinned into the kiss.

 

 

oOo

 

Dean knew that Castiel loved art. There had been more than once he'd caught the Valet, then footman, gazing up at the hanging works, or scrutinising the collection Lord John Winchester kept on display. Castiel had a taste for it, an admiration which was why Dean thought the Wallace Collection, one of London's most prestigious museums filled with decorative arts and culture, the perfect place to take him.

 

Castiel was practically breathless as they entered the grand foyer, only slightly put off in the start with his dress. But when they entered the gallery Castiel could barely contain his excitement, Dean would almost describe him as giddy. He stood on his bouncing back and forth on his toes like a child, in awe of everything they came across. There was artwork from all over the world, Spain, France, Italy; paintings, ceramics, furniture and sculpture all of it such a staggering show of opulence that Castiel seemed almost overwhelmed.

 

And if Dean found himself watching Castiel more than the actual exhibits then no one was the wiser. Cas practically had stars in his eyes, clad in his best tweed jacket and flat cap it was any wonder Dean was torn between examining the paintings and examining him.

 

There was another couple in the southern wing who walked arm in arm and talked in hushed whispers, pressing smiles to each others knuckles and sneaking kisses behind the larger statues. Dean had been irritated with their display until he realised that Castiel had been watching them in much the same way, perhaps a little sadder, his eyes glazed.

 

Dean watched Castiel's fingers twitching by his side never rising past his hipbone for the fear of it. Both men gazed at the couple ahead with varying degrees of yearning. Dean wanted to take Castiel's arm, but of course the thought was insane.

 

He caught Castiel's eye and noted the same longing there.

 

When in public every step was taken with caution. Every word was heavy with meaning. Dean's chest felt incredibly tight, he could feel his heart fluttering. How desperately stupid of him, to crave affection and attention so much that one glance from the man beside him left him twitterpated.

 

Upon leaving the Wallace Collection they ate at a nearby cafe, inconspicuous enough that no one thought it strange that they shared the one meal, or at least didn't directly draw attention to the fact. After, they took to Manchester Park, the green garden dotted by the queens swans that flocked to the lake blanketed by white lilies and willow fronds.

 

There were several couples about the park, the weather too charming to offer any real excuse to stay away. They all walked arm in arm making calf-eyes at each other.

 

Dean and Castiel walked with a pace between them, their similar height drawing their steps in to match. It may have appeared odd to some, so see two lower class dressed men acing right friendly with each other as they traversed the garden discussing pieces of the Wallace Collection, but it was hardly incriminating. Which was what Dean and Castiel depended on, the ability to be both seen and unseen in public.

 

Some men in their position may not have even wished to walk as close as they were now, their shoulders brushing together with every third step, but Dean's longing and love far outweighed his fear,and by the slightest of press backs against his shoulder Castiel felt the same.

 

Dean really wanted to kiss him.

 

“There's something about this place that makes me realise how much of life I miss being in service.” said Castiel as they crossed by the lake. A group of children tossed bread to the mallards, their laughs and voices breaking the serenity of the place, but not in such a way that Dean didn't feel himself smiling watching them.

 

“How so?” he asked, shifting his eyes back to Castiel.

 

“All this opportunity, all this change after the war just look,” Castiel gestured about them, the city the topiary, the Wallace Collection which stood like a guard over the garden, casting a shadow. “How much diversity there is in a city like this, to live here, work here- the possibilities seem endless.”

 

For the first time since he was a child Dean looked away from the stars in Castiel's eyes, finding them difficult to face.

  
Castiel's awe sobered a little and Dean only felt guilty. Castiel touched his arm, feather light to stall Dean in his step. “Do not get me wrong Dean, I am very thankful for my position-”

 

“You met me after all.” Dean interjected, forcing a smile.

 

Castiel's returning grin was far more genuine, softer around the edges, reaching the crinkled corners of his eyes.

 

“It is just that grand houses like ours won't run as they do forever,” Castiel began, his voice soft and reasonable, it took Dean a moment to focus. “Being here, seeing all of this- the art and the culture, it broadens my horizons, makes me consider what other options there are out there for me.”

 

Castiel could do better than being a Valet, Dean's valet, Dean had known that for as long as he had known Castiel. From the first moment he'd seen the soot covered boy trying desperately hard not to smudge any of the pages of the book he was reading behind the woodshed. There were times where Castiel was even smarter than Dean, though the man had only gone to school until he was twelve.

 

Castiel could do anything he set his mind to and Dean had absolute faith in him.

 

But that didn't make that truth, that prospect of Castiel leaving- _again_ , any less painful.

 

“They've always run this way, I don't see why it would change.” _Even if we have a labor government now,_ Dean thought perhaps a little sourly.

 

Castiel smiled as they fell back into step. Again a shoulder press, a little longer than the first.

 

“Everything changes Dean. And nothing more than the status quo.”

 

Dean didn't believe him but refrained from commenting lest he say something harsh.

 

Besides, it was good for Castiel to dream. All men should have a dream, and if Castiel truly one day, decided he wished to get out of service then Dean would do everything in his power to help him.

 

Dean rubbed his jaw, noting the slightest stubble that was only beginning to form. “If you want I could sneak you some books from the master library. Every day.”

 

A light heat flooded Castiel's cheeks.

 

“You spoil me Dean.” he whispered, tilting his head. He smiled soft and gentle. “Far more than you ought.”

 

He was almost disbelieving in it, amazed that Dean would offer such a thing, as though he was undeserving. Dean only realised how very close they were, when he felt as though at any given moment Castiel would lean into him and kiss him on the lips. at any given moment Daisy could raise herself up once more to kiss him again on the lips.

 

“And I'll always strive to do so.” Dean said, leaning to whisper close by Castiel's cheek. A risk more than anything but it was done so quickly (and had such a lovely effect on Castiel whose blush deepened) that Dean found himself unable to regret it.

 

Oh yes, Dean wanted to kiss him rather badly.

 

At the same time they stepped back from each other and continued up the garden path. After such close proximity in such an open area both made extra sure to keep ample space between them.

 

oOo

 

They arrived back at the hotel just as the sun was beginning to dip down past the apex of the London street scene, after what could have been Castiel's most treasured experience with Dean to date. An experience which entirely throughout had Castiel thinking about pressing the young lord up against the nearest wall and kissing down the line of his jaw, right down past unbuttoned buttons to the chest and darkened pink nipples that haunted his fantasies.

 

They'd barely touched at all since this morning, and interlude which more than anything reminded Castiel of just how long it had been since they had brought each other to orgasm.

 

“Did you have a plan for this evening?” Castiel asked, watching Dean as he crossed the room, adjusting the belt around the waist of his borrowed slacks. They were wholly and completely much too large, Castiel was surprised whilst walking around the museum and the garden that Dean hadn't tripped over them.

 

Dean rolled up the sleeves on his shirt and styled a fresh coat of pomade into his hair. “Thought we could see a flick, it's been a while since I've been to a London cinema.”

 

“I thought you hated the pictures?”

 

“Going with Sam is what I hate, he talks through the whole show. I think I'd enjoy it being beside you.”

 

Castiel had wanted very much to act as the couples they'd seen at the park had. He'd seen Dean watching them with something like longing and felt the same ache behind his ribcage to know that they couldn't.

 

It was the reminder of those couples that alerted Castiel to the simple fact that within this hotel room, together they were alone.

 

Privacy for the both of them together was too much of a rarity to pass up. Castiel had already squandered one evening of the three they could share together, and here, standing by the closed door now he vowed not to do so again.

 

“Besides I like that Norma Talmadge girl.” Dean went on, unaware of Castiel's advance. He approached Dean step by step, testing his own nerve as much as Dean's.

 

Despite their botched attempt last night in reality it had been quite a time since the two had been intimate.

 

“She looks real modern with her hair done up like tha-mpf.”

 

Castiel shushed Dean with his lips, his fingertips either side of Dean's jaw tilted his head in Castiel's direction and directed the young Lord's face for a kiss.

 

It didn't take long for mouths to open, for hot breath to be shared with errant saliva as Dean gripped Castiel about the waist and kissed him back with undignified abandon. There was no savouring in his action, each too titillated, wound up like clockwork to maintain any level of restraint.

 

They broke apart panting, foreheads resting against one another, no care anything aside from touching each other. with the distance between them closed Castiel reached up and slipped Dean's tie out of it's knot, pulling the article off him in a smooth slow motion before he dropped it beside the bed, the implication of such a change in dress set them both aflame.

 

The room was suffocating; a furnace demanding one thing that Castiel was distracted from putting a name to as Dean backed him toward the bed.

 

“Normally you're more proper in undressing me.” Dean smiled.

 

Not bothering to answer, Castiel cast his attention to the shirt buttons before him, working rather quickly.

 

Dean responded by divesting his shirt when Castiel had it undone, before the garment had even touched the floor Castiel's hands travelled the length of his chest, to his waist, working open Dean's trousers whilst Dean kissed him.

 

They fell back onto the bed naked a short time later, Castiel having growled in impatience and removed his own shirt and undershirt up and over his head, whilst Dean kicked off his pants and removed Castiel's as well.

 

Now on the bed Dean immediately set about the task of kissing every inch of Castiel he could reach, his palms found the sides of Castiel's ribcage and pulled him into another kiss.

 

The feel of Dean beneath him, his bare chest against Castiel's own was so welcome in different circumstances Castiel could have wept from the sheer joy of it.

 

Castiel gave a satisfied murmur, and at that, Dean opened his eyes. He smiled up at Castiel, lips parted and swollen, cheeks healthy with a blush. It was a break in a moment in which rushed lust turned to a simmer, equally if not more delightful.

 

Licking his lips Castiel shifted his weight to Dean's side. Dean's eyes did not disconnect from his though, and when they lay parallel Castiel didn't speak but lowered his face and kissed Dean open-mouthed, wet and hot from his lips to his jaw, down his chest and between his pectorals.

 

Dean pressed eager hands to Castiel's thighs, moving up, he combed his fingers through the coarse dark hair between Castiel's legs, finger tips just brushing the base of his erection. Castiel moaned in the back of his throat, expressing just exactly how that made him feel. Dean smiled against Castiel's cheek and encircled Castiel's cock with slow fingers.

 

Castiel shifted back, hooking one leg between Dean's, his breath hot on Dean's cheek, nose dragging as Dean's hand dragged feeling numb with feeling so much, Dean's practised and sure touch so distracting that it took Castiel a moment to remember to return the attention.

 

He scaled down Dean's body with one hand before taking firm, tortuously attentive hold of him.

 

Leaning back up on his elbow, Castiel cocked one knee to more readily support his weight. There was a moment in which Dean had to adjust his hold of Castiel, shifting up on his pillow to make the position work, but he did so with little thought too consumed with Castiel's hand on his cock to move with any haste, hips already pushing up into Castiel's enclosed fist.

 

Castiel leant over him and kissed him, this time allowing his tongue to linger against Dean's to appease his oral fixation, as he continued to coax and arouse Dean to full attention. He was relentless in the speed and firmness of his strokes, knowing just what Dean liked, the lingering press of a palm to his cock head, fingers teasing down the underside of his balls.

 

He could feel Dean's back arch against him, Dean's hand slowing to an almost stop, merely cradling Castiel's cock in his hand now, a small thick pool of pre-come dribbling down Dean's wrist.

 

“Good?” Castiel asked, shifting his hips a little to remind Dean own his own erection.

 

Dean looked up at him, eyes shining and blown into a beautiful peridot green. It made Castiel's gut feel like melted wax, malleable and hot.

 

“God Cas _please_.” Dean said, abandoning Castiel's erection completely to grab ahold of his shoulders, and arch up, heels digging into the bed beneath him.

 

Castiel felt Dean' muscles strain at this latest development as he tried to draw Castiel close, Castiel _on top_ of him.

 

It didn’t take a genius to recognise that Dean's legs were perfect for finding someone lying between them.

 

“Sorry,” Dean breathed, falling back down to the bed. He raised himself up on his arms to release Castiel's body from any contact with his own. “Sorry I just-”

 

Castiel touched Dean's arm afraid he was about to retreat within himself. “No, it's alright. I like feeling you against me.”

 

“I know that it's just-” propping himself up on one arm Dean reached a shaky hand out to touch Castiel's chest. Castiel wondered whether he did that to feel Castiel's heartbeat (rapid) “I'm thinking about having you-about having _more_ of you against me, rather in me....”

 

Oh.

 

Oh- well...

 

 

“Ah, yes. Alright.”

 

The words were out of Castiel's mouth before he could even think them in his mind.

  
“Really?”

 

Before Castiel could consider and give a measured answer Dean was upon him, kissing at his neck while his hand led Castiel's up the inside of his thighs. Normally Castiel would have responded, kneaded the flesh, shown Dean some sign of soothing or assurance but as Dean led Castiel's fingers down between the cleft of his cheeks Castiel's fingers remained frozen in fear.

 

“God, Cas you are _not_ ready for this.” Dean said, tugging his hand, and therefore, Castiel's away.

 

Castiel let out a frustrated sound and sank down heavily between Dean's spread legs, valiantly trying not to downcast his eyes and just _look_.

 

He'd seen Dean naked many times before, but never from quite such a vantage point. He wasn't sure if the prospect was offensive or intriguing. But by the unwavering erection arched up between his legs he privately guessed the latter.

 

He felt Dean's eyes on him, and lifted his gaze from his own erection. “Whatever I feel about anything else, I can't stop myself from wanting you. And you give me so much, today was lovely, _so_ lovely.”

 

It felt strange to be talking in such a manner with such prominent arousal, completely naked. But he had to admit that if they did not talk now, they probably never would. The topic of penetration was surprisingly not a sobering thought, in fact it made Castiel only _harder._ Whatever reservations he felt his body certainly did not agree.

 

And judging by Dean's own persistent erection, far longer though thinner than Castiel's own, dribbling clear wet pre-come into the dip of his belly button, the thought of sodomy for him was terribly arousing.

 

But Dean's expression did not match his arousal.

  
“The thought of not being able to do things for you hurts. It hurts me. You deserve so much better.” Castiel said, his throat dry and uncooperative. “You know I am not saying this to ask you to disagree and make me feel better, please don't. I am made the luckiest man in the world for your affection. I don't think there's any person I've ever met that believes in love more than you. And against all rationale and reason you've given your love to _me_.”

 

Dean looked as though he was about to interrupt but Castiel quietened him by squeezing his arm.

 

“And I want to give you that same love in return. It would be so much easier to put you off, possibly forever but I can't Dean. I love, treasure and admire you, and so help me God I _want_ you. But-”

 

Here Castiel found himself struggling to get the words out. By grim determination alone he forced his treacherous throat to obey;

 

“But I admit a part of me is still telling me it is wrong to want you in that way at all…let alone actually be the one of us to do the-the _penetration_.”

 

“I really liked all of that, right up until the last part.” Dean said with a small smile. He touched Castiel's hand with his own, heat over heat. Castiel swallowed. “I don't care for our positions, our social standing. Cas you don't have to give me anything. And I don't want this being something you feel you have to give to me. For any reason.”

 

Castiel turned his head away and closed his eyes to focus more fully on his speech. “I'd rather think, considering what you are proposing we do, that you are to be the one giving _me_ something.”

  
“We can continue on as we have been.” Dean said sitting up fully now. He shifted Castiel's hand into his and brought it up to his mouth for a kiss. “I do rather enjoy having you in my mouth.”

 

The thought was enough to have Castiel groan aloud. Dean smiled wickedly and pressed another kiss to Castiel's hand, his tongue teasing the gap between two fingers.

 

Dear lord.

 

Castiel pulled his hand back as gently as he could, lest he lose his sense completely and fall (quite literally) into Dean.

 

“I'm nervous.” he said, feeling uncomfortably hot. “You will have to lead.”

 

It took a moment or two for Dean to register what it was Castiel was truly saying.

 

“You heard what I just said.” he said, voice hardening the smallest fraction. "You're not doing this out of some sense of guilt or some twisted idea of obligation you have towards me?"

 

Castiel thought on that a moment, longer than he expected to.

 

“No."  he said and watched as instantly Dean softened. He realised right then just how much Dean had expected him to admit _yes._ "But I appreciate you asking so. It's just over the course of today I've given the idea of being more intimate with you some thought. Our time together is so rare, even more so than ever now and I want to make the- the _most_ of my time with you. We can go some of the way if you like, if we go slow.”

 

Dean's smile was rather brilliant, like looking at a bird flying in front of the sun. “Of course. Cas, I'm more than happy with anything you're comfortable with.”

 

“Perhaps- we should stop talking then?” Castiel suggested, looking across at him.

 

Dean didn't need much more prompting than that.

 


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seems a bit silly now to warn for graphic sexual situations but woop here we go.

“You reckon there's much difference in it; kissing a girl?” Dean murmured through his next breath.

 

With a blink sixteen year old Castiel pulled back from Lord Dean, lips parted from a freshly laid kiss. He stilled himself with a hand to his thigh and shifted his position against the stable wall.

 

“Kissing a girl?” Castiel asked, a little stunned that Dean's mind had been wandering. The fifteen year old Lord was of the more persistent sort. Despite being younger he was far more sure of matters such as kisses and touches than Castiel would ever be. These afternoons with Dean were among the more glorious hours of Castiel's young life. He felt very grown up and important, spending time with Dean acting rather sweet with him and mucking about. It still amazed Castiel that Dean, future lord of the Winchester Abbey held even the slightest interest, romantic or otherwise in the likes of him.

 

Dean was infinitely more invested in the romantic side of their friendship than Castiel himself, his hands were always straying, eyes shining with something Castiel was not quite apt enough yet to name.

 

Now looking over at his friend and sweetheart, with his head leant back against the stable wall, and a far off gaze in his eye, Castiel felt an uncomfortable twist in his gut and gave his best effort to hide the feeling from the features of his face. “I don't suspect so. Why do you ask?”

 

Dean hummed and shrugged and put an arm around Castiel's waist, as though to draw him back into his side and resume kissing.

 

Castiel did not budge, and instead placed a stalling hand on Dean's arm. “Dean.”

 

Dean pulled back with a frown, sufficiently chastised.

 

“I don't know, I've just been-” he chewed his bottom lip in a distracted manner. Castiel waited, patient.

 

“You know at the dance-” began Dean uncertainly.

 

The dance oh, Castiel and his fellow hall boys had heard all about it, Billy Kent the youngest of the four hall boys but by far the most spirited had swore that he'd crept up the the servants entrance and glanced at the graceful lot dressed in extravagance right before Mr Singer had spotted him and shooed him back down.

 

'Never seen so many' he'd claimed, referring to the upper class. 'one of em 'ad a diamond rock as big as me fist round her neck. She did!'

 

At the time Castiel had thought that rather foolish, how could a lady possibly keep her head up under such a weight. He'd figured Billy Kent a liar. And had been proved right when a few days later Dean had taken the time to describe the ball and all it's guests and proceedings to him.

 

In the present moment Castiel nodded. “Yes. The other week. Sam didn't like the dancing.”

 

Dean smiled a little, as he always did at the mention of his brother, but something was weighing the edges of his grin down, enough that it made Castiel worry.

 

“Well a-ah, when I was dancing right? With this girl.” Dean said rather sheepishly. He fiddled and picked at the short hairs on the nape of his neck, a gesture Castiel knew well. “She kissed me. On, on the cheek.”

 

_A kiss. On the cheek._

 

_A kiss from a **girl**. On the cheek._

 

For a long moment, Castiel didn’t answer. After he stared at Dean for what must have been an uncomfortably long time, the young lord said;

 

“Cas, are you alright?” Dean asked, his tone so lovely and soft that normally it would lay over Castiel like a soft blanket, now it only felt uncomfortable, stale and scratchy making Castiel's skin ache. “Cas-”

 

A part of Castiel questioned the very thought process over why Dean was telling him of all people this, now. But really it was quite simple. He was Dean's best mate. His confidant, supporter, partner-in-crime, sweet heart… all of which held the simple duty of being the one person Dean could turn to with his thoughts, his questions.

 

_You reckon there's much difference in it; kissing a girl?_

 

Castiel felt more than faintly sick. His mood irreparably soured.

  
“I suppose she was probably very pretty.” He felt so awkward that he was surprised how smooth his voice sounded; to Dean, he probably sounded overly polite, stiff even, when in fact he had no idea what to do with himself or what to say.

 

Castiel shifted back on his hands and knees, drawing said knees up to his chest. He shook his head and buried his nose in the crook between them, eyes downcast to the ground.

 

Dean stared at him a moment in blatant shock. Then, quite suddenly he smiled the very vision of amusement “You numpty. You're _jealous_.”

 

“Why didn't you tell me?” Castiel hissed and drew his knees in closer, protectively, when Dean scooted over to him, trying to regain their closeness.

 

“There wasn't anything in it.” said Dean.

 

Castiel huffed and looked away, though it was hard not to look at Dean when he sat right in front of him, and leant in awfully close. Looking so bloody pretty.

 

“Cas, you know I'd never cheat you.”

 

“You we're thinking bout it. 'bout _girls._ Kissing em and touching em.” Castiel sniffed a little bit and tried to rein in his slipping accent, he'd never make footman like Mr Singer said if he kept slipping up in such a fashion, sounding like one of the lads out in the soot on the streets instead of a respected servant of a great house.

 

“Who said anything about touching!” Dean barked in an affronted manner, then said a little softer, balancing on his knees now so he could lean in right to Castiel's space. “Cas come on you know you're my only.”

 

Castiel swallowed around the sizable knot in his throat. When he looked back to Dean, the young lords face so earnest in it's expression, he found himself struggling to look away.

 

Dean's lips were still kissed pink and swollen, an awfully unfair occurrence which for the first time Castiel cursed.

 

“Promise?” he asked, feeling his cheeks flush a ruddy shade of rouse which he always hated but Dean had expressed many times that he liked. “Promise I'm your only?”

 

“Course, I promise.” Dean intoned, “I'd rather kiss you than any girl in the county. Whole country even!”

 

Dean smiled at him, his green eyes turning the lightest shade of peridot in the low light.  


  
Castiel smiled back without thought, admiring that lovely shade.

 

 _I love you,_ Castiel wanted to say, a sixteen year old boy so sure of his heart.

 

“You're awfully keen when you blush like that.” Dean said, edging a little closer, so close his big green eyes filled Castiel's vision and their noses almost touched. There was a playful kick to the corner of his mouth that Castiel wanted to taste. “All riled up.”

 

“M'not _riled._ ” Castiel said pushing at Dean's chest before burying his fingers into Dean's shirt. He could feel the young lord heart beating. Castiel pressed his palm flat to Dean's chest, and felt the strong rhythm through several layers. “It's a nice thought s'all.”

 

“Nicer thought for you than kissing a girl?” asked Dean.

 

Castiel shoved him back with an indignant sound. Dean laughed and laughed as Castiel wrestled him to the ground amongst the hay and the muck in the horses stables.  
  


 

 

oOo

 

 

“Will you stop giggling?” Dean asked raising his head from the pillow to find Castiel sitting up between his knees, looking at his oil slick fingers and sniggering.

 

“I'm sorry it's just-” Castiel splayed his fingers and made a squelching sound as he curled them into a fist. “ _Slippery_.”  
  
  
  
He laughed a little, high and childish. Dean would have smiled if he wasn't so bloody embarrassed.

 

He allowed for his head to fall back against the pillow, from his lips he blew an exasperated sound, before looking back up at Castiel with a frown. “Christ Cas. Anyone would think I'm trying to make love with a bloody child.”

 

Dean regretted the words almost as soon as he said them. But something in Cas softened and he stared down at him, naked, cock lying somewhat hard between his legs with an adoring smile-keenly at odds with the entire situation-on his face.

 

“I like that.” he said and wriggled closer. Wet hands slapped against Dean's thighs making him jump as Cas leant more fully over him and kissed the corner of his mouth, still smiling.

 

Dean stared at his lover aghast. “What!?”

 

“Making love.” Castiel elaborated, correcting Dean's disturbed assumption. “The two of us _making love_.”

 

Well the act itself certainly sounded better than sodomy, which Dean was being very careful not to bring up in either word nor act should he scare Castiel off and cause a great hullabaloo over the Valet's held close principals.

 

He was drawn from his thoughts by Castiel sucking his neck, kneading the muscles of Dean's thigh with a oil slick hand.

 

“Well get on with it then.” Dean said a little uncomfortably. He wriggled his hips to emphasis his point, but the smile on his face made up for his gruff tone.  
  
  
  
Cas really was a large child sometimes.

 

Castiel relented, placing a last kiss on Dean's lips before he shifted. Dean was spilled around him legs spread in a manner that would have been unbecoming if it was in the company of anyone apart from Cas.

 

Dean's hand found the back of Castiel’s neck, fingers gently stroking the hair there as he sat up more fully to try and watch Castiel work.

 

Squeezing the vial of oil onto his hands sometime earlier,  Castiel had rubbed the viscous liquid onto his digits. Dean watched, transfixed as Castiel started to stroke them along his inner thighs, tentatively, at first, and then more firmly. He let out a throaty moan in approval. Castiel leant over and kissed his chest as he worked, lapping at his nipples, his ribs whilst he slicked Dean up thoroughly. His finger tips brushed over the soft skin of Dean's balls, the thatch of hair by the base of Dean's cock dipping down to his perineum with some hesitation. Dean kept his eyes closed all the while, enjoying the touch, the attention.

  
He loved Castiel very dearly.

 

“This seems rather odd.” Castiel said. Dean was very glad Cas had the sense to warm up his hands and the oil first, it would have been very cold otherwise.

 

“It's a compromise, and It will feel good.” Dean said, thinking back as much as he could to the book in which he'd learnt this act. “And if you change your mind or-”

 

Castiel silenced him with a kiss, exhaling against Dean's parted lips, he moved even closer. He didn't properly touch Dean until Dean moved to lay back down, legs together, giving Castiel silent permission to his body. It was then that Castiel came to lie atop of him, erection nudged into the crease of Dean's thighs. He shifted a bit until they were equal, erection lined to erection, both filling with bloody eagerly. Dean was a little touched how Castiel still kept up most of his weight by his arms pressed into the mattress either side of him.

 

He felt it only fair to reward him he wrapped his arms around Castiel, getting comfortable. The pleased sound that Castiel made when Dean rolled his hips up and rubbed their erections against each other, sent a bolt of heat through Dean and a shiver.

 

Oh yes, this was very nice.

 

They kissed gently, rutting against each other, testing the field, until Castiel dipped his kisses lower following the line of Dean's throat to his collarbone. He shifted down Dean's body slowly, and dragged the pad of his one thumb against one of Dean's nipples. That elicited a stifling sound from Dean, that made him swear. Castiel knew how that sort of touch undid him. In defence Dean kissed the slope of Castiel's shoulder, rising his hips up to press them together, circling his hips in the same measure.

 

He felt a little insecure for squirming under Castiel's touches- it had been so long since they'd been able to be like this; slow and almost purposeless simply enjoying the intoxication of each other.

 

Dean twitched and dug his fingers into Castiel's hair when the valet with growing enthusiasm sucked a bruising mark into his skin, pressing Dean's hips down with his own as he did it.

 

They were both breathless soon enough and eager to move along with the nights proceedings. Castiel's skin was hotter than the sun by now, burning Dean up on the inside.

 

“ _Cas_ ,” Dean rasped, fingers digging in a little tighter to the man above him.

 

Castiel replied with a shaky breath rocking against Dean harder.

 

Dean opened his legs still slick with oil. The new angle tipped him forward and caused Castiel's cock to slide up between his thighs jolting the breath out of him. The wet head of Castiel's cock nudged beneath the base of Dean's erection and balls, edging close to the crease of his behind.

 

God, that felt _good_.

 

“It's alright,” Dean whispered, eyes half-closed in pleasure as Castiel stalled a moment unsure. Seemingly emboldened by Dean's words Castiel kept the position and moved his hips, sliding and squishing between Dean's legs, riding against Dean with his heavy cock. With a certain detachedness Dean realised he was leaking a steady stream of pre-come against his own stomach, only made aware of it when Castiel bared down on him, thrusting his hips as his torso and mid section sandwiched Dean's erection to his stomach, applying much desired pressure there.

 

Dean opened his eyes to the ceiling and crinkled the bedspread beneath him as he moved into each thrust. “Oh – that’s perfect, ahh Cas. _Perfect_.”

 

Castiel slipped a hand down between them to stroke Dean’s thigh, open-handed and firm grounding himself in Dean so he could thrust a little harder. The movement of Castiel’s hand was controlled, every movement steady and purposeful; completely at odds with how he was during their previous encounter.

 

Dean wondered how he'd ever let them get so far then, when _this_ was Castiel at arousal, at comfort. This was Castiel, his lover, possessed by a loving, desperate creature entirely in sync with Dean's own.

 

Dean turned his face to kiss Castiel. He kissed his jaw, his ear, cast a lick to the older man's earlobe that was somewhat derailed as Cas let out a breathless laugh and accompanied the sound with a squeeze to Dean's side and a powerful thrust. Dean laughed and kissed Castiel's skin, then paused and buried his nose between Castiel’s ear and his neck, breathing deeply. He adjusted his position, squeezing his thighs together, at least until his knees touched..

 

Castiel moaned, hips stuttering in their rhythm. “ _Dean_...”

 

Castiel's moan was possible the greatest sound Dean had ever heard. “Y-ah-yes?”

 

“It’s tight,” Castiel sighed, shaking as he held himself up a little bit, hips still moving of their own accord in small tentative circles. “Y-you’re _squeezing_ _me!_  It ah, ugh- _feelssogood._ ”

 

Dean’s skin flared hot. His immediate thought was to let Castiel sink inside him. He'd love the tightness then.

 

But Castiel wasn't ready for that yet, and this by itself was still overwhelming.

 

Castiel gave another throaty deep moan when Dean more purposefully tightened his thighs around the valets cock.

 

His skin was alive with some sort of static that crackled with every movement from the man above him. He had one hand around Castiel's shoulders and one hand on the bed steadying himself as Castiel drove between his legs slipping past and along Dean's erection, the both of them achingly hard.

 

Dean had his eyes closed enjoying the senselessness of sex combined with the overt awareness of his nerve endings, with every gentle, or rough touch received or given between them.

 

“ _Ungh_ ,” Castiel grunted, as his breath started coming harder. “ _Bloody_ _C-Christ_.”

 

Dean laughed at the cuss, head falling back as he took a hand to his own hair and pulled without thought. Then he groaned, grin spitting into a pant as he wrapped both arms around his paramour trying to still him. “Cas, I want to- are you ready? For the, _oh god_  for the - _uhgh-_ ”

 

“I believe you... you said the book called for a d-different position?” Dean bit his lip to keep in a whine as Castiel stilled his hips. “I-I suggest moving onto our sides,” Castiel panted, valiantly trying to speak evenly and keep himself from moving. “That may be the most- _oh god_ -suitable course.”

 

There was a moment of shuffling about, where Castiel had to find the strength to still his hips and climb onto his side, and where Dean had to control himself long enough to do much the same, missing Castiel's touch all the while.

 

“Face me.” Castiel said when Dean had rolled onto his side. He said the words with enough urgency that it almost sounded like an order.

 

It was the closest thing to a command Dean had ever heard the other man make towards him, it felt rather strange but also rather exciting. He rolled onto his opposite side instantly, smiling at the chuckle Castiel gave him.

 

Dean’s eyes dipped to Castiel’s erection and he swallowed at the sight. Castiel's cock head was flushed red like his chest, almost purpling around where the skin was thinest and where the vein on the side of his shaft was engorged. Dean watched with something not unlike hunger the squeeze of another dribble of clear fluid from the slit, the liquid caught on the ridge of Castiel's foreskin before sinking down his already slick shaft.

 

Looking back up to Castiel who was watching him silently, Dean's mind ignited with the awareness of their proximity of how long he'd wanted this, of how long a time it had been since their last.

 

There was a little shifting while Dean guided Castiel into position, mirroring the images and descriptions he'd read. Castiel let himself be handled and only breathed out a quick panting breath when Dean had his cock neatly set between the swell of his thighs, underneath his balls. Dean felt his skin hot and slick with wetness, the oil, his own pre-come and Castiel's all mixed together. Nothing had ever felt so filthy, nor so arousing.

 

“Is this correct?” Castiel murmured, rocking against Dean the smallest bit as he grit his teeth and stilled a moment, eyes squeezed shut, lips bitten.

 

Dean kissed him deeply and slowly, sighing into his mouth as he focused on keeping his thighs tight and shifting a little bit to make Castiel gasp. Their kiss broke softly, and Castiel wiped Dean’s lips clear of saliva with a thumb. “I will presume that is a yes.” he said, cheeks red.

 

When Dean nodded Castiel’s smile widened. A trail of warm liquid seeped between Dean's thighs as Castiel began to move in earnest, pushing his erection through the tight space Dean maintained. Dean marvelled at the sight looking down between them, at the head of Castiel's cock disappearing between his thighs. The feel of it poking out the other side, the head nudging up between his cheeks which Castiel held onto with one hand, squeezing, driving his thrusts with more power. Dean held on to Castiel where he could, assisting in picking up a shaky rhythm between them as Castiel began to hump, rock-hard against him.

 

“ _Yes_.” Dean nodded, eyes closing as he smiled. His fingers on one hand spread a pattern across Castiel’s chest, making Castiel sigh. ”Perfect, perfect, perfect. Cas- oh mmmm...”

 

Dean leant his head forward onto Castiel's shoulder, eyes closed, breath coming in soft pants.The feel of Castiel's slick cock between him had his hips canting into each thrust. Almost more intoxicating was the constant pressure on his own erection, sandwiched and sliding between them, dribbling quite steadily.

 

He pressed his lips to Castiel's chest, his shoulders the nape of his neck anywhere he could reach. “There's no master in this room,” He said and made sure to catch Castiel's eye between thrusts. “No servant no God, just you and me.”

 

“ _Youan'me_.” Castiel repeated around a smile, underlining the words with a powerful movement. He didn't bother lining himself up, just started rolling his hips, cock slipping along the cleft of Dean's thighs, dipping in and between them to push out the other side. His skin felt warm and slick against Dean, but it was Castiel's soft gasps as he undulated against him that made Dean feel every inch of himself swell in arousal. His gasps were met with Dean's own, every time Castiel pulled back and the head of his cock caught or slipped over Dean's thigh was utter bliss.

 

Though his cock was barely being touched, Castiel's eagerness had Dean intensely hot and bothered in all the right ways. His body and brain were oddly content enough with the crushing of skin on skin. And his arousal left no doubt as to whether their present actions, simply pressing and pushing and grabbing at each other would be enough to do the business of completing him.

 

Castiel's whimpering was what really fired Dean. “ _Fuck_ ,” he gasped, and, god, that was delightfully attractive, Castiel reduced to profanity because of _him_.

 

Dean mouthed at his shoulder, unable to kiss his lovers lips because Castiel was curled against him pulling at Dean by his ass cheeks, begging wordlessly for more touches, more kisses and more intimate words. “Fuck-Dean.”

 

“Yes Cas-ouh-oh, Yes. Yes!”

 

As Castiel drew back Dean glanced down at his erection. It was flushed a dark pink, a sleek dribble of fluid coating the tip and most of Dean's stomach. Dean wondered abstractly how much of the mess was his own.

 

Castiel came forward again, shaky and pushed his cock between Dean's thighs with a gut wrenching groan.

 

Dean writhed, knowing Castiel was moments away from coming. Fluid was eased from his own cock with  every too-tight or too-hard squish of Castiel against him.

 

Dean went on forcing his thighs into a tight lock, both men were gasping out of sync, sweat mingling with slippery fluid continually drooling out, the closer each of them got to their peaks. Castiel was calling out, wordless cries, each heavy from months and months of desire.

 

That waiting was at an end; Dean held himself tight, barely breathing, not blinking as he watched Castiel's mouth fall open and his eyes squeeze shut. He felt the throbbing head of Castiel's erection between his thighs nudging up beneath his ass until it built and built-

 

Castiel was the first to reach completion. He came spurting liquid between Dean's cheeks and thighs. He shouted his pleasure against Dean's shoulder, holding them tight together as though he could somehow bury himself inside Dean.

 

Perhaps some other time.

 

Dean hummed contentedly, and perhaps a little smugly, to himself as Castiel came apart in his arms, shaking before he rolled onto his back with panting breaths releasing Dean in an exhausted state.

 

Dean parted his thighs with a sticky wet sound that would of made him wince if it weren't for how close to the surface he was burning.

 

Castiel still suffering the aftereffects of his release reached over Dean with a strong workers arm and pulled him into a sloppy tongue filled kiss. Relief burst through Dean as he felt a hand encircle his erection before Castiel, with a firm determined grip, worked him to completion. Dean didn't mind one iota for the sloppy work as the glow across his body crackled to life and he came messily into Castiel's fingers around a shout.

 

It took several moments for both men to regather the shattered pieces of themselves. In the aftermath Castiel the first to speak.

 

“That-” he said, gulping for air. “That. You. Dean. Were _lovely_.” And he rolled onto his side, tilted his head just enough so that the tip of his nose rubbed gently against the line of Dean's jaw, the strong corded muscle of his neck.

 

Dean laughed, but the sound came out broken and breathless. He rolled onto his stomach smushing semen and oil into the bed sheets. He dragged a pillow up under his cheek to grin at his lover who was wrecked on the bed beside him. Dark eyes, mussed hair; all of his skin was shiny with sweat, Dean figured he appeared in much the same dishevelled manner and felt a rush of affection for it.

 

“Well, you've had your way with me now Mr Novak.” Dean grinned.

 

Castiel returned the smile a little tiredly, then chuckled staring up at the ceiling, the rises and falls of his chest slowly evening.

 

“Penny for your thoughts.” Dean asked, still a little breathless himself.

 

“I’m – I’m thinking.” said Castiel, pausing between every few words. “That there are things I need to reevaluate at the moment.”

 

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What things might that be?”

 

He lifted his arm up groggily as Castiel rolled over to curl against his side, sharing his pillow, each of them too hot to really hold each other too close.

 

"It was good.” Castiel rubbed his cheek against Dean’s shoulder and tilted his head to brush his nose along Dean's jaw. ”I think I may be able to do more than that. In time.”

 

"If I knew it was so easy to bend your principals.” Dean joked reclining lazily against the mattress. "Then I'd have suggested this from the very start."

 

Castiel tossed one arm over Dean's waist, pulling himself in closer. “I'm afraid you've read somewhere that rudeness is charming.” he mumbled.

 

Dean pressed a kiss to whatever part of Castiel lay closest to his mouth. That just so happened to be the top of the other man's head.   
  
  
  
”One would think you'd be in a better mood after such an act.” he said against Castiel's hair, before wriggling further into the mattress, getting comfortable.

 

“I’m tired now.” Castiel said curling a hand around Dean's side as he closed his eyes.

 

“The highest compliment.” Dean smirked.

 

Castiel pressed a hand over Dean's mouth and kissed his shoulder before grappling (rather pathetically) for the blanket to pull up over them. Once he had settled back down, covering them both with a sheet he closed his eyes and resumed his position. “Hush now.” he said, and kissed Dean's chest once, breaths evening out into something quiet and restful.  


In a matter of moments he appeared to be sound asleep.

 

Dean watched him in loving wonder. He could feel every inch of Castiel's body pressed against his own. Though a part of him wished for the chance to clean the both of them off before they called it an evening, the rise and fall of Castiel's chest was soothing, the tranquility of the moment too idyllic to uproot.

 

He wished it could be like this every day.

 

It hurt that sleeping with Castiel in the same room, let alone the same bed always felt like a novelty. Dean was unused to the press of quite so much warm naked skin against himself, after a lifetime of ‘not sleeping’ with another being it was these rare moments, pressed against Castiel that Dean perhaps had missed most of all.

 

Upon realising the peace of the moment Dean allowed himself to relax a little. He hugged Castiel closed, heard an incoherent snuffling in response and endeavoured to fall asleep also, despite the early evening time, the sun not long set beneath the horizon.

 

The perfect day with a perfect ending, the precluding moments right from returning from America all that time ago seemed no hardship in the slightest in comparison to this bliss.

 

Save the odd bit of London atmosphere; shouting echoing down the streets outside,  the rumbling of a cart, horses and the odd automobile, the night was the most peaceful Dean had ever had the chance to experience. With Castiel in his arms, he slept soundly till morning.

 

 


	10. Chapter Ten

Upon waking Castiel was immediately aware of two things. Firstly, that he was going to have to brave the bathroom, extracting his naked, stained self from the comfort of Dean's arms, and two, that he was in desperate need of a cigarette.

 

The thought of remaining in his current state offended Castiel's delicate sensibilities so much he prioritised and rose from the bed with some effort to venture to the bathroom. With hot water and a flannel he wet his face then wiped down his stomach. The semen crusted there was stubborn, clinging to the dark hairs of his stomach and groin. The excess oil ruined the cloth, making it slick and greasy in the most unpleasant of ways. But Castiel prevailed. He brought a fresh cloth with him to clean Dean off, who grumbled at the touch but remained asleep.

 

With an affectionate kiss to the sleeping lord's forehead Castiel let him be (though Dean would need to make his own trip to the bathroom if he wished to become proper, and Castiel would insist that he do so as soon as he was conscious).

 

Feeling fresher than he had since last night, Castiel reclined onto the bed, above the covers. Indulging in the all too rare a moment in which his body was bare, his morning empty and his mind unencumbered.

 

When he opened his eyes dust speaks floated before his eyes for a moment, giving the world a dream like quality. Castiel quite enjoyed it, the opportunity to be lazy, and rolled onto his side where his gaze fell upon a brown leather journal.

 

Dean's gift to him.

 

Castiel reached out to the journal and turned it open to the cover page.

  
Dean's writing brought Castiel comfort, an almost innate response now. His eyes passed over the black scrawl, the careful and practised loop of Dean's letters with something akin to softness. The words of Dean's gift when he first read them had pressed on Castiel like a weight, constricting is chest, making it hard to breathe.

 

He hadn't realised how he'd missed the elocution Dean had through his written correspondence until he'd been so long without it. Much like the man himself.

 

_To my only,_

_know most sincerely that every smile I cast your way expresses how I feel for you; every time I catch your eye, every instant I am in your company I am in love._

_Most especially when I am unable to find the words to tell you so._

_But you always find the words (something almost superhuman) you're a master of that craft so I give you this note book in the hopes that you understand how your thoughts are very dear to me, as all of you is in fact, and that you have a way in this God-forsaken world to speak your mind, give voice to your thoughts, write- because your thoughts are very beautiful and I'm forever thankful to be privy to them._

_Your own adoring_

_-D_  
  
_P.s try not to get this one burnt this time_

 

“You read too loudly.” said Dean from beside him, his words a muffled grumble, as he blinked one eye up at Castiel, his arms stretched out beneath his pillow.

 

“Apologies.” Castiel said and moved more firmly onto his hip. He set aside his journal and then reached over to card his fingers through Dean's hair making the younger man hum. “Did you sleep well?”

 

“Very. Hasn't taken me long to get used to sharing a bed again.” Dean pushed his head up into Castiel's touch, as though a feline. After a moment or so of what could only be described as petting, Dean stretched out his arms and blinked more consciously. “What time is it?’

 

“Bout half seven.” Castiel answered.

 

Dean recoiled from the touch as though stroked against the run of his hair, and buried his face back into his pillow. “I hate you.”

 

  
Castiel scoffed. And stroked the back of Dean's head, combing the short hairs on the back of his neck with his fingertips.

 

After a silence, Dean turned his head again and looked up at Castiel fully.

 

“You're brooding.” he said with a sigh, leaning in to Castiel's palm as it came to rest at his cheek.

 

  
“Aren't.” said Castiel stubbornly.

 

  
“I know your brooding face Cas it's been the same since you were fourteen.” Dean caught Castiel's hands with his own and kissed the palm of Castiel's hand. “Would now be the time to ask you once more to run away with me?” he said, lips tickling against Castiel's skin in a smile.

 

With Castiel's silence Dean frowned at him, his brow creased with worry. There was a sort of 'drama' to his expressions, a fascinating play of emotions across his face, that Castiel knew Dean would be mortified by if he learnt of them.

 

  
Dean's hand squeezing his prompted Castiel to move. He lay down on his side and shuffled closer to Dean, as though keeping his next words just to the space between them.

 

  
“If we were to run,” he asked. “Where would we go?”

 

  
Dean's lips parted around a soft sound.

 

  
Castiel went on. “You said the other evening, that I'd need to burn down the world in order to, to be rid of those who thought as Dr Richards did, as society does.”

 

“I think I said the country,” Dean replied slowly, “the world's stretching it a bit. Besides I've heard of the Italians, all those strapping men in those bathhouses, what with all that steam covering everything of interest.”

 

“Don't be vulgar.” Castiel scolded. Dean turned to sit up at his elbows, the blanket pulled down to his waist.

 

“You know Cas that what those magazines print, what that _man_ -if he can even lay claim to the word- supposes you know it's a pile of horse shite yes?”

 

Dean's words were a comfort no matter how much Castiel heard them. “I know, I do. But I'm afraid with, with Ruby and coming so close to ruin I-” Castiel sighed. Took a deep breath and sighed again. “It was so much easier before, to feel apart from the the beliefs and suggestions of others about men like us. A kind of bubble of ignorance that for the first time in my life I'm truly living outside of.”

 

“Do you remember during the war,” Castiel continued, wishing for a smoke to ease the passage of his words, “on the front how they'd...if they found a man to be a homosexual, they'd send him out on the field, a gun pointed to his head and make him march across the break to be picked off like a pheasant? Men of their own team, their comrades. They'd send them to their death with barely a blink.”

 

“I never saw it I-” said Dean quietly, fiddling with Castiel's fingers. The only mark of his emotion the tightness with which he held him. “I kept away from such things. From the front.”

 

Of course, of course Dean had. Castiel had never been happier for Dean's social standing and title, than when the young lord was conscripted to the armed force. It was his title that had protected him, kept his far or farther than most from the true heat of battle.

 

Castiel knew that the grace of God was his saviour. For some reason, some how, God had plucked him from the thousands and kept him safe, brought him back home in one piece. Brought him back to Dean.

 

Surely that accounted for something.

  
“I saw it once I- I didn't realise what it was, what it meant until after.” Castiel looked off in the far distance. The roll top desk in the corner of the room had a thin speckling of dust across the backing, he wondered how often the maids were sent to sprucer the rooms. Then he wondered how Singer would react to such an atrocity. Dust was as bad as the plague at the Abbey. “I'd forgotten that until now, or perhaps now I've only allowed myself to remember. Only now I understand that those boys could have easily been you or I.”

 

So easily, so very easily. The war was like a scabbed over wound on all the young mens hearts. Those who fought and those who were forced to stay back watching the brothers rush out and die into the fray.

 

It had been a long time since Castiel had thought of the war with such melancholy. It was a characteristic of their generation that they were to remember the war as a glory, as a time to honour those that had given a great sacrifice for the peace of the free world. All aside from the ones who fought in it, the wound was covered over, but far from healed and itchy.

 

“There's a lot about the war that is better left forgotten.” Dean said.

 

Castiel still kept picking. “They were good men I'm sure, honest men, but they turned so quickly on learning the true heart of another. And those people are of the everyday, everyday a man I pass in the street could be my maker, someone I meet at the pub, someone I serve at dinner.”

 

He could feel the pressure of Dean's gaze upon him. Castiel shut his eyes. In his own head was a discomforting thunderous silence- an absence of his inner voice, the thoughts that narrated all his days- and he was quite thrown by it.

 

Still when he opened his eyes the silence lessoned when he looked at Dean.

 

“I apologise,” Castiel said, and almost lowered his gaze as if he were speaking to his Lordship himself. ”Sometimes my thoughts take a turn I have no control over.”

 

The fervour with which Dean spoke his next words caught Castiel off guard. His grip on Castiel's hand now, sitting up, was leather belt tight. “Never apologise for your thoughts Castiel, for your mind.” Dean pressed his lips once more to Castiel's knuckles, bruised as they were from his tryst with Richards. “It is a great deal of what I love about you.”

 

“My mind.” Castiel smiled, it was almost impossible not to, when Dean's lips were against his skin. “I suppose there are worst traits to be attracted to.”

 

Dean smirked good naturedly and moved both his own and Castiel's hands to his chest. His skin was warm, freckled between his pink dusted nipples, hardened with the cool air and the loss of their blanket. “I said a great deal of my attraction not all of it.”

 

There was comfort to be found in Dean's touches and his smiles. Great comfort indeed. The uneasiness within Castiel settled some and in the wake of the next moment the two moved closer until pressed against each other beneath the covers. “Dean?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Will you kiss me?” Castiel asked,intertwining Dean's fingers with his own, palm to palm.

 

Dean laughed a little. “Till my last breath.” he said, cupping Castiel's cheek he brought their lips together.

 

With the sun shining through the curtains the two men slid closer to each other. Kissing him passionately, Castiel let his fingers slip down to caress over Dean's sleep-warmed skin. His ribcage his stomach, trailing the small guiding hairs from Dean's navel to his groin.

 

Dean hummed into the next kiss, and Castiel opened his mouth to greet him, ignoring the nightly taste of Dean's mouth, because he wanted Dean. He wanted to have him right now, just like last night when Dean had came apart at the feel of him. Just the memory of it had Castiel's throat thickening and his cock swelling.

 

Lord help him he wanted to, to give Dean the touch he desired but there was still fear twisting it's way around its heart. That fear dictated his limit. He couldn't give Dean everything (and was hardly at a point where he could offer himself in such a way), but he could give Dean more than just the kisses and nips to his lips and jaw, the feel of firm hands working his arousal. Castiel could do so much more than with just his hands and body.

 

"That's enough.” Castiel said as evenly as he could when Dean's hand slid down between them, eagerly searching between Castiel's legs. Castiel slid forward and pushed on Dean's shoulder causing the man to lay down on his back as he climbed up over him, pushing the blanket down the bed.

 

The pressure on his cock was magnificent. Castiel took a moment to indulge on it, sitting on his thighs, his own cock and Dean's arching up between them.

 

“You feel fine.” Castiel muttered into the skin of Dean's neck his hips moving without his own accord. He pressed his lips to the slope of Dean's shoulder and kissed ardently the space he wanted to taste.

 

“Oh-I appreciate that.” Dean said, settling his hands on Castiel's hips.

 

Castiel nodded, then slid down Dean's body.

 

He settled between Dean's parted thighs in a position most familiar and laid his lips against Dean's skin once more- the curve of his hip then the shaft of his erection with the utmost care. The heat of the enclosed hotel room, and the sunny morning pressed around him, making him feel as if he were in a dream. In tune to the staccato thrumming of his heart Castiel pressed kiss after kiss to Dean's flesh, coaxing it to full arousal. He moved down Dean's thighs, his hair slipping from Dean's fingers reach as – with his mouth and the tip of his tongue he lavished Dean with attention.

 

“I-ah” Dean muttered and broke off, his voice descending to indecipherable depths. “ _Hnn_ , _Cas_ , ahh-god.”

 

Castiel groaned at the sounds Dean was making. He told himself to keep his composure, and when his lips reached the head of Dean's cock, flushed and dribbling clear fluid from the slit, Castiel opened his mouth and pushed his head down, taking the head of Dean's cock into his mouth completely.

 

He sucked and tasted Dean, then swallowed a little bit more of him humming a pleased note in his throat when Dean arched up and threaded his hand through Castiel's hair as if he'd die from his mouth.

 

“ _Oh g-god_.” Dean said, eyes squeezed shut.

 

Castiel released him with a wet sound, and swirled his tongue over his teeth, licking the taste of Dean from him.

 

“If one were to, to begin touring down the path of-of further penetration,” Castiel asked, keeping his touch on Dean to a minimum so that the younger lord could concentrate, “how would one start?”

 

Dean was blushing bright pink to his ears, he seemed to have trouble focusing. Castiel sat up to ease his burden.

 

“Preparation but it, ah-” Dean's voice was already hoarse (a fact Castiel was most satisfied by), and as he spoke his blush darkened further; Castiel could see it lingering under his gold-toned skin and spreading down his throat and chest. “It rather ruins the atmosphere.”

 

Castiel swallowed a little bit, embarrassment filtering through his arousal. He sat up more fully then, and caught the bathroom door just out of the corner of his eye.

 

“I can wait if you need to-”

 

“Don't say it.” Dean groaned, “Bloody mortifying enough as it is.”

 

“I'm sure you'll tease me enough when I'm in the same position.” Castiel soothed.

 

Dean straightened a little to attention at that. “ When ? Really?”

 

Castiel smiled a little. “Perhaps.” He said, the word sounding far more coy than he actually meant it to. Dean's hopeful gaze was a pressure on him, miraculously making some of the remaining blood in Castiel's body flush up to his cheeks. “Eventually, maybe. Last night was... different for me. From what I expected. I admit I find myself, or at least my body curious about the prospect. ”

 

They were facing each other and the eye contact between the felt profoundly physical to Castiel, as if they could touch each other with looks alone. I love you, thought Castiel, and as he thought it Dean rose from the bed and leant over him .

 

“Then I shall be happy to wait until both your body and your mind are truly overwhelmed, and till neither of us is able to hold back a minute more.” he said and kissed him.

 

Castiel feel into the kiss as a moth drawn to starlight.

 

When Dean pulled back his was smiling, the both of them were breathing heavily.

 

“I'll be a moment.” He said, and backed toward the bathroom.

 

Castiel nodded and looked away once the door shut between them. He sat on the bed and stared at his lap, resisting the urge to touch himself.

 

When Dean emerged from the bathroom some time later Castiel was stroking himself with no real intent, staring up at the ceiling as he fiddled with his foreskin with the tip of one thumb.

 

He looked over at Dean, noting the other man's flagging erection and crimson flush.

 

“Well that was-”

 

Dean climbed upon the bed and kissed him, smelling of soap his hands very soft and clean. Hard and firm, the kiss was of someone who knew what they wanted and knew they were ready to receive it- or so Castiel thought.

 

It was the kind of kiss Castiel got lost in, it was the very much the reason Castiel was here, the two of them naked sitting atop of the bed, determined to take things to the next level, as awkward as that made things.

 

“Right,” Castiel said when Dean released him, drawing him down to the bed with those soft hands. “Right. Okay. Yes. Everything is-is well?” his words tripped over his lips in repeating thuds.

 

“Christ Cas,” Dean said and smoothed his thumbs over Castiel's cheeks. “Don't think on it, just kiss me”

 

It was a simple enough request that Castiel was more than happy to obey.

 

The kissing and light touched only stopped once both men returned to a state of obvious arousal and Dean's breath was hitched with every small movement of Castiel's body against his own.

 

Castiel himself had reached a stage of almost fervent eroticism. He almost laughed in delirium when Dean procured and then offered

 

“A curious substance.” Castiel supplied. Dean cast him a smirk, but there was something gathering in his eyes.

 

“I have to-to turn over.”

 

The both of them looked away from each other, and took a moment to regain their composure.

 

“Must you?” Castiel said, his heart going quicker than he thought it rightly could.

 

Dean bit his lower lip. “You don't have to do this-”

 

“I only meant your face.” Castiel said in one rushed breath. He felt rather silly for saying it after. But still it was the way he felt. “I'd like to see you, look at you proper like.”

 

“It is easier this way more,” Dean struggled to find the words. “More comfortable to kick off with. I'm not, I'm not so used to it all yet and there's still some difficulty.”

 

  
“Oh, oh yes then,” Castiel made a small sound and waved his hand in dismissal. “By all means, comfort comes first of course.”

 

And so Dean turned over, raised up on his knees, his chest and face brought down to the bed raising his hips and behind up obscenely.

 

Castiel choked.

 

 _This is the most erotic thing you have ever done._ A voice in the back of his head sounded. _Erotic and damning._

 

The sheets beneath him became rather damp as a large quantity of pre-come leaked from him. He felt a throbbing in his mind and between his legs, looking at Dean trussed up like a harlot in such a position, the very most private parts of him exposed to the open air.

 

“ _Oh god,_ ” he said and swallowed, hands shaking, itching with the urge to just touch. “How do I- what do I-”

 

“Touching is good.” Dean mumbled, resolutely keeping his head to the pillow before him. “You don't have to just, dive right in or anything.”

 

Gosh. Dive right in.

 

Castiel nodded and leaned forward, the backs of his fingers along the curve of Dean's spine.

 

Dean sighed, seeming to relax in his own right to the touch.

 

It took a minute for Castiel to find a comforting yet gratifying position. His palm held the curve of Dean's waist curled around then touching- so slightly- the curve of Dean's hardening cock. Dean held his breath, muscles taught and Castiel watched in fascination.

 

A little more at ease he gripped Dean's hipbone in his other hand, tracking back across the swell of his arse. His fingers were slow in their inching forward, barely parting the cleft. Castiel pushed them a little in, just a bit further than could be acceptable-

 

“Go on,” Dean begged, voice a little breathy. He pushed backward into Castiel's hand, making Castiel's breath leave him in a rush. “Please.”

 

Oil. Castiel thought, withdrawing completely to search a moment for the bottle. You don't want to hurt him you don't want to hurt him.

 

He sent a quick pray of thanks when his hand clasped the bottle. Of course as soon as he'd prayed Castiel felt a chill sweep over him.

 

 _No god. No master no servant just us._ Dean had said so last night.

 

Castiel repeated the mantra to himself several times as he slicked up his fingers.

 

Back in the prime position he sat back on his hunches, one hand on Dean's hip the other he used to pull one cheek away from the other. There was no description for the sound Castiel made when he watched himself slide his finger tip over the puckered muscle.

 

The moaning sound Dean made however, followed by a hiss as Castiel pushed his finger inside was almost as indescribable.

 

Castiel hadn't expected the heat, nor the tight pressing vice. But it must have been correct for after a period of adjustment Dean gyrated his hips back against Castiel's finger.

 

“ _Hh_ ,” Dean made a small sound, and Castiel peered around at his face which bore a concentrated expression.

 

“How...how does it feel to you?” Castiel asked, feeling overwhelming arousal constrict his own body. He was hard, very hard and surprised he was able to speak at all.

 

God- Dean truly enjoyed being touched in this manner.

 

It must feel pretty damn good.

 

The thought occurred to him but Castiel pushed it aside. Shifting his weight on his knees because his own behind had started to tingle curiously.

 

“Tight,” Dean said thickly, then wiggled his hips. “Exciting.”

 

Castiel moved his finger inch by inch while Dean arched his back and hissed in pleasure, curling back to press Castiel deeper. Castiel's finger sank to the second knuckle then withdrew,

 

“No..Cas...” Dean demanded, glaring up at him over his shoulder, his bottom lip red from biting it. “More...again-”

 

There was a pervading warmth in Castiel's stomach that divided some of his attention. He wanted to rub himself while he fingered Dean. He moved as close as he could manage and dipped his finger back inside, Dean sighed a happy little exhale that hitched when Castiel thrust slowly behind him.

 

It took a moment to shift his finger in time with his irregular movements but it was all worth it. The thrusting was mindless, Castiel's sole attention of where he and Dean were so intimately connected.

 

“Amazing.” Dean breathed turning his face into his pillow as he let out a whining sound. “C-Caaass-”

 

Dean was so warm inside, warm and gripping. Gaining a little confidence Castiel penetrated Dean more eagerly, taking the time to move his finger inside of him.

 

**_“Cas!”_ **

 

Dean reared up as though struck and Castiel froze terrified.

 

And instant later Dean turned back around to stare at him with glazed eyes and plump pink bow lips. “That, that, I know of that the book said- God that's the prostate it's it's-”

 

Dean seemed unable to form a complete sentence so Castiel withdrew completely.

 

“No.” Dean whined and dropped his face down to the bed, panting. “It feels good Castiel, it feels so good . Just again- just _there_ again. _Please_.”

 

Castiel nodded, heart pounding and confused. He put his finger in again and this time he felt it; a small bump when touched caused Dean a reaction of body spasms and just- just

 

“Oh god.” Dean said reaching to stroke his own cock.

 

Castiel slowed and added a new dabbing on oil, inserting a second finger alongside the first, the muscles strained around the second intrusion which made Dean hum pleased.

 

Castiel worked Dean gently for a few moments, taking every few slips to press against his-his prostate, stroking or produce the small bump to produce different reactions, swapping the two fingers he entered into his love, changing the width and depth of his strokes.

 

  
When he picked up the pace, simultaneously grinding against Dean's backside was when the young lord started shaking.

 

“ _Oh Cas-ouh-uh_.”

 

Dean's noises were a mix of grunts and mouthy whines, he worked his cock through his fist at a furious pace that only spurred Castiel on more. His body was so tense to rub himself against, the backs of Dean's thighs, the space between his spread legs was so warm and wet to smear himself against, rub the head of his cock against Dean's tightening balls.

 

He knew Dean was close. With one hand inside and one hand working him outside, Dean looked almost possessed by a distant animal.

 

“ _Cas Cas Cas_ \- Cas, ple-hease ooh~”

 

“That's it Dean,” Castiel murmured, his own breath hitching. His arm and hips ached but Dean just looked so lovely-

 

When Dean spilled thick white semen across his fist he collapsed soon after almost dragging Castiel with him. Castiel groaned, fingers slowing to a gentle sweep as he massaged the last few spurts of come from his lover.

 

With Dean satisfied Castiel was possessed by his own pleasure. He withdrew, carefully, then set about to lay by Dean's side, working himself with a oil slick hand bringing himself closer and closer to that frenzied moment when the mind looses all control of the body without restraint or shame.

 

When Dean's hand joined him he almost shouted for the joy of it.

 

Dean's hand was stronger, faster than his own at such a task. Castiel chewed his bottom lip and dug his fingers into the arm that brought him so much pleasure. He thrust up into the hands that gripped him over and over, alive with pleasure, until the madness peaked, almost painfully-

 

They both slid down onto the bed. Dean fell back, legs spread wide, while Castiel fell forward on top of him, burying his face in Dean's neck. They lay there a long while, clinging and panting. Occasionally their cocks brushed together, the most sensitive parts of them kissing against each other. The both of them groaned aloud, pushing against each other in residue erotica.

 

When Castiel finally came back to himself we was on his back gazing up at the ceiling, Dean was curled up beside him his cock squeezed pleasurably to Castiel's hip, the two of them made a warm damp cocoon. Castiel wrapped his arms and legs around Dean, who lifted his head up to gaze down at him, with the trace of an almost shy grin on his lips.

 

“Once we get a bit more practise...” he began.

 

Castiel kissed him and hugged him desperately tight.

 

“I love you.” He murmured, feeling a sudden fear pierce him, not of control but vulnerability, this was as much of himself as he'd ever given a person.

 

“And I you.” Dean said, but Castiel frowned and stroked a hand through Dean's mussed hair.

 

  
“Even though I can't give you- all of what you want?”

 

“You give me everything.” Dean said, sounding happy. When Castiel looked at him he could see that Dean's eyes were firmly closed. “Everything.”

 

“Thank you Dean,” Castiel said kissing Dean's neck. “So that was enjoyable for you?”

 

“Wonderful. As if you couldn't tell.” Dean smirked, eyes still closed as he turned more fulling into Castiel's side.

 

Castiel smiled then eased himself up a step. “Let me clean my hands,” he said, reaching over the bed for the wash cloth he'd used earlier that morning. It was no longer wet and contained some crusted semen but Castiel could not gather himself enough to make the journey to the bathroom. He cleaned his hands and then himself, passing the flannel to Dean.

 

When they both were clean they laid back down, in the arms of the other with no intention of moving for quite some time.

 

It was only then that Castiel remembered.

 

“I wish we could remain here.” he said.

 

“In London or in bed?” Dean inquired around a lazy yawn.

 

“Together.” Castiel answered.

 

The two took a moment to ponder such a world.

 

“Yes,” Dean said finally, his hand flexing around Castiel's side. “Yes I wish that too.”

 

The morning light was rising, outside London was waking, the sounds of carriages and automobiles filtering in from the outside world. Awareness was returning, the world making itself known, and with it the reality of the couples last day together, for an indeterminate amount of time.

 

“Yet...” Castiel said, savouring the word and Dean's anticipation for the following sentence. “We still have the rest of the day and half a day tomorrow, I'm not expected back till two.”

 

Dean's smile when it split was beauty distilled down into a single moment. What Castiel would have wished for to have a camera, capture that look, the particular shine to Dean's eyes at that exact point in time. It would be the most precious thing he owned, only now it would have to be the most precious memory.

 

  
A hand trailed quite suggestively down Castiel's side.

 

  
“Didn't I boast there would be a day in which we wouldn't leave the bed?” Dean teased.

  
  
Castiel shut him up with a kiss.

oOo

 

 

The train came into Yorkshire station at precisely 1:43. At 1:45 Castiel disembarked, holding his cloth cap to his head as the train threatened to blow it away. With his Valise in his other hand he stepped from the platform and looked about unconsciously for any sign of Dean coming from first class.

 

They may as well get their stories straight before heading by different methods back to Winchester Abbey.

 

“Mr Novak?” A familiar voice called.

 

At once, Castiel turned to see the family's chauffeur, Victor Hendrickson stepping toward him with a determined gait.

 

Castiel should have remembered that Dean would have called for the car to meet him.

 

“Hello Mr Hendrickson.” Castiel greeted dipping his hat as was polite.

 

  
“Mr Laffite mentioned you were away taking time in London.” Hendrickson said, scrutinising Castiel over, his tone distantly polite. “I should have known you'd be back on this train.”

 

He was a man who Castiel had little dealings with, what with chauffeur’s not being a part of the families _proper_ servants. He had the perpetual smell of cigar smoke that filled Castiel's nose every time he looked at him. 

 

  
“Yes. I was in London.” Castiel answered, keeping his expression neutral as he tried to recall the hashed story Mr Singer had told to the other staff as to Castiel's time off. “I have an aunt, you see who is in London. I went to London to visit her.”

 

  
“Well,” said Hendrickson slowly, “you certainly look the better for it.”

 

His pillowy lower lip was pulled taught in a pout. His own hat dipped over his forehead. Castiel had never before wished so completely for the comfort of his livery.

 

Hendrickson looked at Castiel in the eye before lowering his gaze. “I hope our Lord enjoyed his holiday as well.”

 

And there it was.

 

Any doubt Castiel had had as regards Hendrickson's level of understanding following his and Dean's coincidently timed absences were immediately dispelled by the way he managed to pronounce the word ‘enjoy’ as though it were the grubbiest word he knew.

 

Castiel, wisely, said nothing.

 

The approach of Dean only squashed the obvious elephant into a much smaller room.

 

“Hendrickson, there you are. Sorry about the later train,” Dean's smile was blinding white, his proper suit set in a hard line across his shoulders. He looked right handsome, enough that Castiel felt a welcoming ache in his gut from, wishing once more for the closeness they had shared over the last few days. “Ah, Castiel I didn't see you there.”

 

Castiel stayed silent under Hendrickson's scrutiny.

 

“Mr Novak was just telling me how much you enjoyed your holiday, mi'lord.” Hendrickson said taking Dean's bags.

 

  
Dean blanched a moment, at the turn of their plan. “Well-yes.” he said, recovering quite quickly. “I did at that. Very much and Cas-” he looked to Castiel out of the corner of his eye, a clear request for him to explain much later. “We caught up at the station. Had a good chat about it, how Cas was visiting his cousin-”

 

“Aunt.” said Castiel weakly.

 

Dean grit his teeth. “His aunt... for Christmas.”

 

Hendrickson stared.

 

Castiel winced.

 

“Of course my lord.” said Hendrickson slowly, his piercing gaze searched Castiel's face as though to establish whether or not the men he was dealing with were bona fide imbeciles.

 

“I think I'd best be getting back now, Hendrickson." said Dean, his tone taking on a manner much like his father.

 

"Of course, mi'lord." Hendrickson immediately responded. “Would you mind mi'Lord, Mr Novak taking the front seat?”

 

Castiel felt some relief at that. The long trek back to the Abbey was not a welcome one. Their return to the 'real world' outside of the anonymity of London and their small hotel room had Castiel utterly spent, to the point of where it felt like his feet were dragging in the dirt, and the concept of walking all the way back to the Abbey was on the verge of impossible.

 

There was an unmistakeable light in Dean's eyes when he looked to Castiel, but he restricted himself to a slight nod of the head and a small smile. “Of course he's welcome to it.” he said and that settled the matter quite finely.

 

Castiel breathed out a sigh of relief, and assisted Hendrickson with getting Dean sorted.

 

oOo

 

The air at Winchester Abbey was far cleaner than London.

 

“My Lord,” Garth bowed, taking from Dean his jacket and hat, “his Lordship has asked for you in the gallery.”

 

“It's like I never left.” Dean said beneath his breath. He cast a last look to Castiel with a small smile, before heading in the direction of the gallery, shoulders set. “Thank you Garth, do you mind asking Miss Mills if I could have a tray delivered to my room. Whatever is left over from lunch of course.”

 

“Of course my lord.” Garth said with a bow, heading down to the servants hall.

 

Castiel watched Dean turn toward the gallery, and paused a moment on the stairs until Dean was out of sight completely.

 

 _And so it begins again._ Castiel thought, climbing his way up to the bachelor's corridor to deposit Dean's suitcases in his room.

 

After taking the time to sort the laundry from the unworn suits, and then check over all the clothes for anything in need of repairing (one jacket with a loose thread in the cuff, that Castiel sought to mend that evening). He took his own luggage to his room, before heading down the servants hall.

 

Anna, her red hair braided neatly beneath her maid's cap caught Castiel on his way downstairs.

 

“Castiel!” she said, sliding into his space an exuberant smiled on her face. She clutched Castiel's hand in hers and gave him a welcoming squeeze.

 

“Hello Anna.” Castiel smiled, his first real smile since he and Dean had left their hotel room that morning, hand in hand until entering the lobby, insight of the world outside once more.

 

“I couldn't believe it when I heard Singer let you go,” Anna gushed taking Castiel's arm as the two of them walked toward the servants hall. “Truly Castiel, was it just magical?”

 

Castiel flushed and didn't answer, casting his eyes about the hall.

 

Anna smiled in understanding. “Well I'm happy for you, regardless. It's about time you have a holiday.”

 

“You must tell me of your own time.” Castiel insisted, lowering his voice as they neared the servants hall where a crowd of voices could be heard. “How your family is, your nieces?”

 

“This evening, over tea and cards?” Anna asked. “I shall tell you about mine if you tell me about yours.”

 

  
“The interest you have in my private affairs is truly disturbing.”

 

“Hush now, you know we gossip about the upstairs all the time,” Anna laughed, “you just happen to be the impossible link between the two.” She gave him a gentle squeeze and a conspiratorial wink, before pulling Castiel over the threshold into the servants hall.

 

“Look everyone, Castiel's back.”

 

It was a little overwhelming to be greeted by so many cheerful smiled and voices. Mrs Harvelle and Benny Laffite were seated near the head of the table, each with a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits between them. Several house maids and hall boy's were down the end of the table, while Andy sat between the two ends, flipping through a magazine as he chewed on a ginger biscuit.

 

Castiel could hear Bess and Miss Mills in the kitchen, and smiled at once feeling wholly surrounded by the people dear to him.

 

“Anna let the poor man breathe for a moment.” Mrs Harvelle admonished rising up from her chair to give Castiel a welcoming pat on the shoulder. “Did you have a pleasant time dear?”

 

Castiel basked in the welcome, like a cat in the sun. “I did, thank you Mrs Harvelle.”

 

“London keep you on your toes Novak? You're looking a little peaky?” Benny flashed a glorious smile at Castiel, as he came to take a seat at the table.

 

“I managed perfectly well thank you.” Castiel said.

 

“Educational was it?” Benny asked, smirking indulgently around his teacup.

 

Castiel refrained from shooting him a glare.

 

“Actually yes.” he said. “I managed to make a day out of the Wallace Collection-”

 

“Ohh that's nice.” A house maid commented.

 

“Cor, that's grand.” Andy said, impressed.

 

Castiel was quite grateful when Bess entered the room placing in front of Castiel a fresh cup of tea with milk and sugar on the side. “Welcome back Castiel.” she said when Castiel thanked her kindly for the tea. “It's exciting you getting to do that. I wouldn't even know where to start with holidaying in London. Makes you seem like a man of the world it does.”

 

The attention was quite overpowering, Castiel sipped politely at his tea, trying to gather himself and hide his cheeks of their heated flush.

 

“Don't know how I feel about museums though-” Andy wondered aloud, his magazine set aside for now, forgotten. Perhaps it had been his magazine that Castiel happened upon several days earlier, there was no part of him inclined to ask.

 

“Seems a bit silly stuffing away all that junk, then cheating the poor man out of their honest money just to get a look.”

 

Castiel offered a small shrug of his shoulders. “It was really quite lovely.”

 

“Romantic I'm sure.” Benny added with slightest humour. Mrs Harvelle gave him a dark look, clearly under the impression that jokes of that sort were not the call of the hour.

 

Benny raised a hand in modest surrender as Castiel too shot him an irritated gaze. He wasn't quite sure if Benny was trying to implicate him or placate him, but either way his version of American humour was not appreciated.

 

“That sounds exactly like the kind of boys talk I don't permit beneath this roof mr Laffite.” said Singer coming into the room, his shoulders back chin high, his hands deeply embedded into his trouser pockets.

  
Everyone rose when he entered the hall, and only sat down once he had done so.

 

Bess scampered off to gather him up a cup of tea.

 

“Castiel,” Singer sat, peering down from the head of the table to where Castiel sat between Anna and Benny, “I see you've returned intact.”

 

Castiel bowed his head in greeting. “Yes, Mr Singer and I am happy to be back.”

 

Mr Singer nodded his approval and the servants hall fell into it's usual groove of idle chatter and nattering. It was one of those rare moments in which most of the staff were not required and had a spare moment for biscuits and tea in the afternoon.

 

Castiel spent most of the remaining break time carefully regarding Mr Singer. Never would he have admitted it, but having some sort of tacit sign of tolerance from the older man meant something to him. Being a servant was being a creature of reactions. A creature that spent it's life responding to the signals of others. But it meant that, unlike Dean, Castiel needed a certain ambience of acceptance in order to truly be at ease.

 

In Singer’s quiet glances, and with the gentle everyday chatter that returned to the hall, Castiel gained a certain delicate sense of balance, a sense that if one did not inhale too deeply, or exhale too loudly, all could glide quietly forward.

 

When the bells began to sound for the afternoon change over, everyone jolted into action. Both Anna and Benny rose to attend to their Lordships and Her ladyship in turn, Benny squeezing Castiel's shoulder as he rose to leave and Anna, casting Castiel a smile, mixed with promise as she passed.

 

Castiel could admit freely he'd missed her in her absence, the house felt more complete now with her returned.

 

The hall slowly dispersed, Singer leaving the room with Mrs Harvelle in toe. Castiel himself turned to retreat to his room and change his clothes, eager to get back into the swing of things. As he left the hall he crossed Mr Singer who was ducking into the Butler's pantry.

 

Castiel sped up his pace with intent, until he was standing before the grey-haired butler.

 

“Mr Singer,” he said, sucking in a deep breath, he fiddled with his jacket making sure the lapels were straight before the man in question turned to him.

 

“Yes Castiel?”

 

Castiel blew out a breath, and smiled. It helped to picture Dean smiling back, but no one need know of that. “I would very like to thank you properly for allowing me leave-”

 

“I'll hear no more of it.” Singer said holding up a hand. Castiel shut his mouth his stomach starting to sink.

 

Yet, when Singer next spoke his tone had softened discernibly. “You've proven yourself in these last few months Castiel. With exemplary work and conduct. And before you are...  _anything,_ you are a member of this household, and are afforded the same rights as any other man.”

 

Castiel let out a tiny breath he had not been aware of holding. He swallowed, his throat without warning becoming incredibly hot and tight.

 

“Thank you Mr Singer that-” Castiel rolled his shoulder back and stood a little bit taller. “That means a great deal to me.”

 

“Yes-well,” Singer straightened his waist coat and cleared his throat gruffly.”Gratitude is no substitute for action. Now, we have a visiting party tonight a Mr and Mrs Robinson and their daughter, American folk but her Ladyship insists on their company.” He cast Castiel with an appraising eye, potentially noting his suit and casual appearance. He was dressed for holidaying after all.

 

“I'm sure you'll see to it that our Lord Dean is properly presentable and help with the evening service, her Ladyship wants quite the showing tonight.”

 

  
There was an undercurrent to Singer's words that was acknowledged by the both of them. “Yes. Mr Singer,” Castiel said, nodding. “Always.”

 

  
“Good.” Mr Singer remarked from the doorway, casting Castiel a slight nod. “Carry on then.”

 

Smiling, Castiel did just that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end of this particular instalment, the next part of this verse will be up soon, and will take place (chronologically) after 'At Your Service' so brush up on that fic to get a sense where the story's headed.
> 
>  
> 
> My love to all those who commented and gave Kudos, I hope you enjoyed this loop in the roller coaster.

**Author's Note:**

> Subscribe to this account to get a notification when I update this verse again, I have another two instalments planned out to take place (chronologically) after this one!
> 
> As always comments and Kudos keep me writing!
> 
> soupernabturel.tumblr.com


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